


I'll walk with you in the shadows

by Goldy



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Betty is briefly dating someone else for like two minutes, F/M, Future Fic, Investigative!Bughead, Post Barchie Kiss, Reconciliation, Some mentions of violence, bughead focused, college fic, post 4x17, post breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: Betty and Jughead went their separate ways two years ago. Betty went to her dream school and vowed to put Riverdale and Jughead behind her. But a series of strange murders on Betty’s campus brings them together again. Why is the killer targeting women with blonde hair and green eyes – women who look just like Betty Cooper? Complete.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 351
Kudos: 365
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	1. Chapter 1

It was 4:00 in the morning and Betty Cooper stood outside studying a dead body.

Early fall wind nipped at her face and the back of her neck. She had only grabbed a windbreaker as she left her dorm room, still half asleep. Now she was freezing _._ She had at least the presence of mind to brew herself a large thermos of coffee before charging out the door. She took a sip of that coffee now as she surveyed the scene in front of her.

The body was a woman. She had been murdered and the killer had dumped her naked body on campus. Her arms were tied behind her back and the ropes were fraying like the woman had been pulling and yanking at them before she died. There were angry red burn marks on her wrists and bottom of her hands.

The woman’s blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Betty would guess that she was about 20 years old, maybe 130 pounds. She had small breasts. Her green eyes were open, wide and unbelieving like her last thought was that she could not believe what was happening to her. The body was positioned at an odd angle like the killer had tried to fold her in half before giving up and running off.

Yellow police tape surrounded the body. Betty lifted the tape and ducked under it to get a closer look. She circled the body and then crouched own. Her neck was reddened and scarred. Betty leaned closer and saw loose fibers around the woman’s neck, the same colour as the ropes around her wrists.

She pulled out her phone with her spare hand and snapped a few pictures. She took a picture of the woman’s neck, her hands, her twisted body. Her face. She tried to stay away from taking pictures of her naked body.

This woman had suffered enough indignity.

Betty sighed and stashed her phone back in her coat pocket. She took another sip of coffee. “I am so sorry,” she whispered

“Awful, isn’t it?”

She glanced over. The sheriff’s deputy, Jimmy, rocked back and forth on his heels. His attention was divided between keeping an eye on Betty and keeping any other curious onlookers away from the scene.

Jimmy was tall and lean with a head that looked about two sizes too big for his body. Betty first gave him her number when she was a college freshman and she ambushed him at an on-campus rave that resulted in the expulsion of 20 upper year students for selling marijuana laced with fentanyl.

He was sympathetic to her insistence in getting a new scoop for the _Daily News_ , but even more sympathetic to the crisp 100 dollar bill she pressed into his hand.

Since then, they had an excellent working relationship. Whenever the police were called to campus, she was the first person to get a call.

“This is the second one this month,” Betty murmured. “What was her name?”

“Madison Bennett,” said Jimmy, drawing out his words. “She was in her third year. Philosophy major. 21-years-old.”

“Was she raped?”

Jimmy looked around as if to make sure no one would overhear them. Then, deciding that campus was deserted, came to stand next to her. His gaze was pitying as he surveyed Madison’s body.

“Full forensics won’t come back for another few hours, but there are no signs of sexual assault.”

Betty nodded. That made sense. The last one had not been raped either.

“Cause of death?”

“Working theory is strangulation.”

Betty reached out a hand with two hundred-dollar bills tucked into her palm. Jimmy plucked the money out of her hand and the bills quickly disappeared into his pocket.

“You’ll keep me updated when you have more specifics?” she said.

“As long as you promise to hold back anything the Sheriff’s Department does not want to make public knowledge yet.”

“I always do,” Betty murmured.

“That’s why I still have you on speed-dial, Cooper.” He paused. “And those photos you took won’t be part of your story?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying not to let the disgust show on her face. “I would never post photos like that in the newspaper. Come on, Jimmy. You know me better than that.”

He sighed. “I do, girlie. Truth is, you make me nervous. Out here, calling yourself a journalist, but thinking that you have a mind to solve half our cases for us.”

“I’m not interested in your job.”

“Still, I can’t help that it concerns me that you might be better at this than half of us in the Sheriff’s Department,” he muttered.

She bit down on a smile. She decided to take that as a compliment.

“The Coroner’s Department is coming back for the body?” said Betty. “This place will be crawling with students in a few hours.”

The early morning was one of the few times that campus was deserted. Even the most dedicated parties wrapped up by 3:00 a.m. Most students would be safely tucked away by now, face down in their dorm rooms to sleep off the rush of alcohol and any other party favours they had consumed. Betty knew that in another couple of hours, the jocks and fitness buffs would lace up for their daily run. She knew that because her boyfriend and proud member of the swim team, Sandy Miller, would be among them. He set his alarm faithfully for 6:30 every morning for a five mile jog around campus with his teammates.

For someone wanting to kill and dump a body on campus, this was the window to do it without attracting much attention.

And at least it gave Madison some dignity.

“The Sheriff is rousing the Coroner’s Office as we speak,” said Jimmy.

“Right,” said Betty. “I guess I better clear out before they get here.”

“Yep,” said Jimmy, popping the “p” between his teeth. He looked at Madison’s body again, shook his head and then glanced at Betty. “You be careful, eh?”

“I’m always careful.”

“Now, I don’t know you very well, but I do know that is a lie.” He hissed out a breath. “In case you hadn’t noticed, that girl is just about your spitting image. This killer, he seems to have a type.”

Betty _had_ noticed. It was the hair. It was pulled back so tightly in that ponytail, not a hair loose or out of place. If Madison had been strangled to death, how had her hair stayed so perfectly in place? So tightly pulled back behind her head? Especially if she had been struggling and pulling at her wrists and fighting back?

The answer was clear – it had not been. Her hair was pulled into ponytail _after_ she died. By whoever murdered her.

“She doesn’t look anything like me,” said Betty. She tried to keep her tone dismissive.

“Agree to disagree,” said Jimmy. “Now you better get out of here before we get discovered. I would hate for our arrangement to come to an end.”

She nodded. “I’ll wait to hear from you. Take care, Jimmy.”

She hurried away, gripping tightly to her coffee thermos. Her other hand was curled into a fist, her nails pressed into her palms.

***

Back in her dorm room, Betty was too wired to sleep.

She loaded the photos of Madison’s body onto her laptop, enlarged the images and combed through any detail she might have missed. She drank her coffee and nibbled at her bottom lip. Her eyes hovered over the rope burns around Madison’s neck. Then she studied the red ring from where she was strangled and the rope fibers the killer had left behind.

The Sheriff’s Department would run a background check on those fibers, narrow down where it came from and identify the seller. If she was lucky, Jimmy would share the name with her and she could interview the seller herself.

She blew out a frustrated breath and then exited out of the pictures. She pulled up another tab on her screen. It was an article from the _Daily._ Betty had published the article three weeks ago. Her article was about Christie Blain, a student who had been strangled to death and dumped on campus in the early morning hours. Her body had been found by students stumbling home after a night at the club.

Her article included a beaming photo of Christie, identified as taken a few weeks before she died. She had blonde hair and bright green eyes.

Betty buried her head in her hands. When she joined the _Daily_ , she promised herself she would stay away from this. She told the editor that her focus would be on keeping the administration accountable to the student body. She would cover endowment funds and student disciplinary hearings and plagiarism scandals.

She rubbed her forehead and then opened her eyes. Christie’s photo stared back at her from the computer screen. Her tousled blonde hair reached down to her shoulders. Her head was tilted back in a laugh. Her green eyes seemed to stare straight into Betty’s.

She always found herself back in it. No matter how many miles she put between herself and Riverdale, no many how many ties she cut, she still felt pulled to a murder that needed to be solved. A murder that needed _her_ to solve it.

There was a knock at the door and Betty jumped, nearly dropping her coffee thermos.

She checked the time. 7:30 a.m. Where had the hours gone?

She rose to her feet and pulled the curtains back from the window. Faint morning light crept across campus. She rubbed her arms and then crossed her room to the door.

She paused on the door handle and then said, “Who is it?”

“Babe, it’s me,” said a cheerful male voice. The voice of her boyfriend, Sandy. “I’m here with Turner! We just finished a morning run.”

_Great._ She opened the door to Sandy’s beaming face. He held out a large Starbucks coffee towards her as if making a peace offering. Betty’s gaze drifted from Sandy to the man next to him. Adrian Turner, Sandy’s best friend and co-member of the swim team, scowled at her like he had been dragged to her dorm room against his will. 

“Good morning,” said Betty. She tried to ignore Adrian’s scowl and instead reached for the Starbucks. “For me?” she said hopefully.

“Of course,” said Sandy with another winning smile. “You know all I need in the morning is a brisk run with the boys.” He clapped Adrian on the back. “Right Turner?”

Sandy and his teammates always referred to each other by their last names. Betty chalked it up to some kind of sacred male-bonding ritual that did not include her.

Adrian’s scowl only seemed to grow. “I might need coffee later if this conversation goes on much longer.” He glanced at Sandy. “Why are we here again? Coach wanted us at the pool five minutes ago.”

“I told you, my Brainiac here has an early class.”

Sandy loved to introduce Betty as his Brainiac _:_ “ _This is Betty, my girlfriend. You know, the Brainiac.”_ He always said it with enthusiasm and a wink. He thought Betty was the smartest person he knew. Shortly after they started dating, he confessed to her that none of the girls from his hometown were as smart as Betty, and certainly not as pretty.

Small hometowns. They had that in common. But where Sandy _loved_ to talk about his hometown – the single-mother who raised him, the swim coach who met him at he pool before class in the morning, the friends who introduced him to his first joint – Betty went out of her way to _avoid_ Riverdale. She did not want to think about Pop’s or high school or the Blue and Gold or….

Or the people she left behind.

Sandy continued, “Late night, babe?”

“Early morning,” said Betty and even though she had already downed the equivalent of about three cups of coffee, she still took a greedy sip from the Starbucks offering. “I forgot about my class.”

“Good thing I came by then,” said Sandy cheerfully. “You know, there is always room for you to join us on our morning run.”

Betty almost spat out her mouthful of coffee. She would rather go for dental surgery than a morning jog.

Adrian scoffed. “As if she could keep pace with us.”

Betty eyed him with distaste. She was not sure what she had done to get in Adrian’s bad books, but he had been nothing but rude to her since she first started dating Sandy. She originally thought Adrian was just protective of his best friend, but he never softened towards her.

Usually they kept things civil for Sandy’s sake, but Adrian seemed to be feeling particularly ornery this morning.

“Bro, come on,” said Sandy, the barest hints of irritation creeping into his voice. He said it in an exasperated tone that suggested they had already talked about this, talked about _Betty_ , and Adrian had promised to behave himself.

“Early mornings are prime writing time for the _Daily_ ,” she said, but she was looking at Adrian. “So you won’t have to worry about me crimping your style.”

“Oh well,” said Adrian. “Too bad. We would have loved to have you.” He cricked his neck around Betty as if trying to get a look into her room behind her. “Who is the cute blonde on your computer screen, Cooper?”

She flushed. _Shit_. She must have left Christie Blain’s picture open on her laptop behind her.

“I’m working on a story for the _Daily_ ,” she said quickly. “About murders on campus.”

Adrian raised his eyebrows. “Cool topic.”

Betty ignored him and addressed Sandy. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said. “I’ll see you later tonight?”

“Sorry, babe,” said Sandy with a glance in Adrian’s direction. “The guys are getting together. Adrian is finally introducing us to his new girlfriend.”

Betty tried to keep the surprise off her face. Adrian was not exactly the _girlfriend_ type. He was more the “see once and never call again” type. Since Betty had first started dating Sandy, she had never seen Adrian with the same woman more than once.

Still, the message was clear: Sandy and his teammates were getting together and she was not invited to join them.

Sandy must have seen some of the dismay on her face because he hurriedly said, “You can join us if you would like.” He glanced at Adrian. “Right, Turner?”

Adrian shrugged. “Sure.”

Betty tried not to wince. It was not that she wanted to go to this gathering. It was more the thought of being _left out_ of the party that had bothered her. Now that she was invited, she could think of about ten other things she would rather do than be stuck in a bar jammed with drunk members of the swim team.

“My girl is new to town,” said Adrian. He looked at Betty with renewed interest. “She keeps saying she wants to make friends. And _you_ don’t have any friends, Cooper, do you? Maybe you should come along.”

Betty flushed. She did not think a response along the lines of: “ _I’ll have you know, I often go out for coffee with my editor!”_ would be the comeback of the century.

“Alright, come on,” said Sandy quickly. “We’ve got practice.”

Sandy mouthed an apology in Betty’s direction and then grabbed a fistful of Adrian’s shirt and dragged him down the hall.

Betty closed the door and leaned back against it. She took another sip of coffee. From her laptop, Christie Blain’s smiling face stared back at her. She _really_ needed to get to class, but she felt drawn toward Christie’s picture. Jimmy had said Madison was her “ _spitting image_.” And what about Christie? The blonde hair, the green eyes? What about the way the killer had left her, just like Madison, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail? 

If there was a serial killer on the loose then Betty had to admit that she looked an awful lot like the other girls that he had targeted.

She shook her head. She had to shower and get to class. But she hesitated. She felt like there was something close, just out of reach. Christie and Madison needed her to figure out what it was.

She had sacrificed so much to be here – at her dream school. She had left behind jagged friendships and broken hearts. What would be the point if she did not treat this like a second chance? She promised herself to leave this behind and focus on her studies. She _promised_.

Before she could make up her mind, there was another knock at the door.

It was probably Sandy again. Coming back with an apology for Adrian and a goodbye kiss. That was the type of thing that he would do.

She opened the door with a grin and came face-to-face with a man she had not seen in two years.

Her smile slowly faded. The man in front of her was tense, wiry, and wearing a beanie on his head.

“Jughead?” she whispered.

“Hey,” said the voice of her past. “Can I come in?”

She could only stare. She felt like someone had knocked the breath out of her and she was scrabbling to hang onto the edge of a cliff with her fingernails.

“What are you doing here?”

She could hear her beating heart ringing in her ears.

He folded his arms across his chest. He was wearing his old Serpent jacket. She felt a rush of something that felt like longing.

“I don’t think that the hallway at your dorm is the best place to get into it,” he said. “Can you please let me in?”

She nodded mechanically and backed up. He entered the room and closed the door behind him. Betty backed up another step and bumped against the edge of her bed. There was nowhere to go. There was no distance that she could put between them.

Betty would never forget their last conversation. After everything, after surviving the Black Hood and the Gargoyle King and even _death_ , how could he let anything tear them apart?

But he said: _“Betty, I will always love you. But I don’t know how to see past this. I’m not sure I can.”_

She left for university a few days later, almost _fled_ – anything to put space between them. The idea of staying in Riverdale and being near him, sharing a _house_ with him, it was too much. Every mile she put between herself and Jughead seemed to loosen the knot in her stomach.

Looking at him now, the pain felt fresh again – like ripping a bandage off only to find that the wound had never healed.

Jughead shifted his weight awkwardly back and forth like he was trying to settle himself down. His eyes ticked through her small dorm room – taking in the twin bed, her cluttered desk, the chest of drawers shoved into a corner.

While he studied her room, she used the time to study him. He looked… tired. His face was narrower than she remembered; his cheekbones more pronounced. His hair was thick and untamed, sticking messily out from his beanie like it was trying to escape from his head.

She did not know what to say. He seemed to fill up her entire dorm room. The walls were pushing down on them and there was no escape.

Jughead stared at the image of Christie Blain on her laptop screen.

“She looks just like you,” he murmured.

Something in his voice sent shivers down her spine. It took her a moment to find her voice. “Jug, do you know something about her?” she said. “About Christie Blain? She was murdered three weeks ago.”

He shrugged and then shook his head. “I don’t. Did you know her?”

“Not exactly.” She paused. Her voice felt foreign like it was coming from someone else. “What are you doing here?”

Something like guilt flashed over his face and then he tugged awkwardly at his beanie. “I, uh, I was in the area.”

She nodded mechanically. She tried to seem unfazed. She tried to make it seem like this made perfect sense even though none of it made any sense. In the _area_? What could _possibly_ bring him to this area? And even if he was here, he had made it clear he wanted her out of his life.

“It’s nice to see you,” she said. She could not even begin to parse through whether that was true or not. “How is everyone? Your dad? Jellybean?”

Now it was his turn to nod. “Good,” he said, “everyone is good.”

Silence descended and then stretched out. Jughead glanced at the laptop screen again. “You must have class,” he said. “It’s early. I shouldn’t have just dropped by like this.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” she said hurriedly. No matter how awkward it was, she did not want him to leave. “Are you hungry?” She paused. “What am I saying? You’re always hungry.”

Jughead turned back from Christie’s photo. Something that looked like amusement crossed his face. “I’m famished.”


	2. Chapter 2

Betty lead Jughead to a diner located on the edge of campus. It was a far enough walk that it was not as mobbed by students as some of the establishments closer to the student residences.

The diner was dingier than Pop’s – its booths were older and crammed together. And it was more chaotic, with foot traffic coming in and out at all hours of the day. The waitresses wore blue striped shirts and white aprons. They called out orders in loud voices – _Eggs over easy with hash at table 2! –_ and never seemed to stand still.

It was called “Alice’s” – a name that always sent a sharp ache through Betty’s side – and it was open 24 hours a day.

She and Jughead slid into a small booth next to a grimy window. The seats were patched and sagging in the middle, but Jughead did not seem to mind.

“Your very own Pop’s,” he said.

“Something like that,” she said. “And I hate to say it, but Alice makes better coffee.”

“That’s not a high bar to clear,” he said. He looked around the place – eyes lingering on the 50s era posters decorating the walls, the noisy patrons, the crammed booths.

“I guess Pop’s never had much in the way of competition,” said Betty.

Jughead snorted. “If you can believe it, Starbucks has finally come to Riverdale.”

“No.”

“Yes. With a drive-through.”

“Did you protest?”

His lips curled into a hint of a smile. “I tried, but it turns out that Riverdale was _clamouring_ for a Starbucks.” He pointed a finger in her direction. “Somehow, no matter what time it is, there is always a lineup.”

“Lineups at all hours of the day, you say.” She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Jughead Jones, how would you know what the lineups look like at Starbucks unless _you_ have been going in at all hours of the day?”

He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I claim my right against self-incrimination.”

They exchanged a cautious smile and for a moment, Betty allowed herself to relax. As strange as his sudden appearance was, maybe the two years they spent apart had eased the bitterness of their breakup. After all, they had been friends once. Maybe there was still a chance they could be friends again.

But then the moment stretched out and silence descended. She searched her mind for something to say, but Jughead never had much patience for small talk. Besides, she did not think he had come all this way to engage in idle chitchat about the weather.

She almost sagged in relief when the waitress came by with water and coffee. They were briefly distracted by making their orders, but all too soon, the waitress disappeared, and the silence came back. Jughead took a sip of his coffee and stared out the window, quiet and pensive.

Betty felt desperate to make him smile again. “I guess you’re back with the Serpents,” she tried.

He shrugged a shoulder and continued staring out the window. “I’m not sure you ever really leave the Serpents. My dad couldn’t.”

“Right,” said Betty slowly. She could not quite mask the disappointment in her voice. She hoped he had not noticed.

But of course he did. His gaze shifted from the window and he met her eyes. “What?” he snapped.

“Nothing.”

“Betty, we dated for years. I think I know when you have something to say.”

“It’s just…” she hesitated, but then plunged on. What was he going to do? Stop speaking to her? “You’re so smart, Jug. What about Iowa? You were supposed to be the first in your family to—”

He cut her off. “What, Betty? Go to university? I left private school in a haze of a plagiarism scandal, remember? It turns out Stonewall Prep has friends in high places and most of them don’t want the student who drove not one, but two, teachers to jump through a window. Iowa was less keen on me after that came to their attention. And then, after all of that, well – I barely graduated from Riverdale High. I am not exactly anyone’s star recruit.”

She was taken aback by the bitterness in his voice. She regretted going down this road. Just as things were starting to soften between them, she felt like she was stabbing at an old wound.

“What about your writing?” she pressed. “I thought – ”

“I still write,” he said sharply. “Here and there. You mother took over the Riverdale Register again. She feeds me what she can. I’m not Steinbeck but I pay my bills. I keep the Serpents out of the drug trade. That’s enough.”

He did not sound like it was enough. He sounded defensive and angry.

Unsaid between them was the inescapable fact that he got into this university first. And she had taken his place.

“I’m sorry, Jug,” she whispered. She was not quite sure what she was apologizing for. The fact that she was here and he was not? The fact that they were no longer together? Or the fact that she broke his heart?

He looked away, sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, I’m sorry,” he said heavily. “I’m acting like a dick. You were just asking questions.”

“It’s okay, Jug. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You weren’t,” he shook himself and when he looked back her, his eyes were strangely vulnerable. “I’ll be honest, it’s shaking me up more than I thought it would be to see you again. Betty Cooper.”

He drew out her name softly, almost irreverently, like he could scarcely believe that she was real.

She knew the feeling. The last place she expected to be this morning was in a booth at Alice’s, tucked up against a window and staring across the table at Jughead Jones.

“Truth is,” he continued haltingly, “things at home are not good. I’m losing control of the Serpents. They’re dealing again. Worse, they’re hiding it from me. I don’t know even know what they are dealing anymore or to who.”

She did not know what to say at the pain in his voice. Back in Riverdale, when he got down like this, she used to place her hands on his, ask him questions until he got his focus back, until he – _they_ – came up with a way to solve the problem. But the two years of silence stretched out between them. This was not her place anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s… I don’t know, like a sign or something? Maybe Riverdale is trying to tell you it’s time for you to move on. I hate thinking that you’re stuck there, writing for the Register when you could be doing so much more.”

Jughead sighed. He still looked pensive, but the cloud hanging over his head seemed to wane. “I could apply for community college. Find one with a creative writing program at least. Archie says – ”

He froze, eyes snapping to Betty’s face as they both realized what he said.

At that moment, their waitress came back and plunked their plates piled high with eggs, sausage, and hash browns down in front of them. The smell of grease and toast wafted to Betty’s nose.

She suddenly felt nauseas. The coffee in her stomach seemed to curdle and bile rose in her throat.

“Archie,” she said slowly. She lifted her eyes to his. “You’re on speaking terms with Archie?”

Jughead hesitated. “We reconnected a few months ago.”

“Oh,” she said blankly.

Jughead lifted his knife and fork as if he was going to start digging in, but instead he pushed his eggs around on his plate. It looked like he was trying to give himself time to come up with a response.

“Archie was my best friend,” he finally said. “Actually, for most of my life, he was my _only_ friend.”

“I was your friend, too.”

“Betty,” he sighed, “‘friends’ doesn’t even begin to cover what we were to each other.”

Now it was _her_ turn to stare down at her plate of food. The eggs were sunny side up. The sausage was shrivelled and next to a lump of fried potatoes. She reached for the salt and pepper shakers, not because she wanted to eat, but because she wanted to give her hands something to _do_.

“You said you never wanted to see either of us again.” Her voice sounded like an accusation. She set down the salt and pepper shaker and then pressed her fists to her eyes.

“I was angry.”

“You told me you didn’t think that you would ever see passed…” she waved her hand, “what we did.”

“I meant it at the time.” He sighed, still pushing the food around on his plate. His voice was soft. “A lot has changed over the last two years.”

“Obviously,” she said. What she really wanted to ask was: _Why Archie? Why forgive Archie and not her?_ _Why Archie when she was the one who put a stop to things – who promised Jughead it was him, that she would choose him over and over again? _

“Look,” said Jughead. “It wasn’t easy letting Archie back into my life. But have you ever tried to stand up to Archie while he is apologizing for something? It’s like trying to ignore an over-eager golden retriever.” Jughead started to dig into his eggs and sausage. “I’m sorry if it bothers you, and I appreciate what it looks like – ” he chewed a piece of sausage and swallowed, “ – but I’m here, aren’t I?”

She acknowledged that with a tilt of her head in his direction. Betty picked up a piece of toast, gnawed at the edges, and forced herself to swallow. Her stomach stayed calm. She took another delicate bite.

“For the record,” she said. “I’m not buying your excuse that you just _happened_ to be in the area. Why are you _really_ here, Jug?”

Jughead chewed another few bites of breakfast before he set down his fork. He dug around in his pockets before pulling out a scrap of paper that had been folded in half and then folded in half a few more times. It looked like the type of note that they used to slip back-and-forth between them while in class in high school.

“Someone mailed this to me.”

Jughead handed the note to her across the table. Betty set down her toast and took the note with trepidation. She carefully unravelled it. The message was written in block letters cut from magazines and glued onto the paper.

_I REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID TO ME_

_I WIILL KEEP COMING_

_KEEP COMING UNTIL I FIND HER_

Betty’s stomach coiled and the last of her appetite disappeared. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What does…?”

“The note also came with this,” said Jughead. He was holding a photo. It looked like a high school portrait. She propped her elbows on the table and leaned in to get a better look. It did seem to be a high school portrait – the woman in the photo looked to be a senior or junior. She had striking green eyes and blonde hair.

She gasped. “That’s Christie Blain.”

A _younger_ version of Christie Blain, but Betty had spent so many days pouring over the photo posted with her article in the _Daily_ that her image was burned into her mind.

“It is,” said Jughead. “It took me a while to find her, but as soon as I started looking for unsolved murders in this area…”

“ – her name would have come up,” said Betty. Her stomach twisted. “Jug, there was another one. Just last night. A woman from our campus. Security called her in early this morning.”

Jughead stared down at the picture of Christie, his brow furrowed. “Also blonde?”

“Yes,” said Betty. “Most likely strangled to death. Just like Christie. There was something else.” She hesitated. “Her hair… Jug, it looked like mine.”

He looked up from the picture of Christie. “What do you mean?”

“It was in a ponytail,” she said. “Pulled back tightly. Not a hair out of place.”

“Like yours,” Jughead murmured. “The killer would have styled it after killing her.”

“That’s what I assumed,” she said. “It almost felt like a message, but I told myself I was just being paranoid.” She set the note down on the table. “I guess not.”

“Sometimes a little paranoia is earned,” said Jughead heavily.

Betty’s appetite was gone. She pushed her plate away from her. “Christie and Madison dead because of me. Because someone is targeting me.”

“Betty, come on. You can’t go down that road,” said Jughead. She watched, her stomach twisting, as he somehow managed to take _another_ bite of food, chewed, and then swallowed. “You did not murder those women. The killer did. That’s on them. Not you. The fact that someone is doing this to get to you means that you need to look out for yourself. Stay inside. Don’t answer the door.”

“Like I did when you knocked this morning?”

He wagged a finger in her direction. “Exactly.”

For a moment, the years seemed to roll back. They were back in high school again, crammed into a booth at Pop’s and working through another mystery together. Back then, it felt like what they had together would last forever.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out of her pocket and then blinked down at it. It was a text from Sandy:

_CRUSHED it at swim practice this morning, babe. Thinking of giving myself a late morning reward. You around?_

The message was followed by a series of winking emojis, hearts, and finally a fist pump.

The text snapped her out of her haze. This was not high school and she and Jughead were long over. He had been clear that they would never be going down that road again. She could not stop living her life at her very expensive, very prestigious university just because someone out there was trying to kill her… again. Besides, she had her contact in the Sheriff’s office. She had the information she collected about Christie and Madison on her laptop. She would figure it out.

She put her phone back in her pocket and then threw a 20-dollar bill down on the table. “I have to get to class,” she said. “Do you mind settling up?”

She barely had time to register Jughead’s surprised face before she was on her feet and heading to the door, purse slung over her shoulder. She did not look back as the door to the restaurant shut behind her.

Outside, the wind blew into her face as she pushed her way back towards campus. She shivered and jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. She welcomed the cool air. It helped her concentrate, narrowed her focus to a few key details.

Christie. Madison. That rope. The ponytail.

She had barely made it two blocks when she heard Jughead calling her name behind her. “Betty – hey, Betty! Wait up!”

Reluctantly, she stopped and turned around. The wind was now at her back. Jughead kept one hand on his beanie as he ran towards her.

“What are you _doing_?” he cried once he reached her. “Didn’t we just talk about this? ‘Don’t go anywhere alone.’ ‘Stay on high alert.’ ‘Don’t answer the door to strangers.’ In case you forgot, there is someone out there who wants to _kill_ you!”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Betty. She tried to sound reasonable. She tried to sound like she was not acutely aware of the concern in his voice, of the way his hands seemed to dance in the air as he spoke like he could not control his agitation. She tried not to focus on any of those things because those things were painful and confusing and would lead her down a rabbit hole of _what does this all mean._

“Betty,” he said. He forced his voice down to a more reasonable volume, but his words were still pointed and harsh. “We know that there is a killer out here. A killer who is apparently dressing up his victims to look like you after he kills them. A killer sending me notes in the mail. I think we can assume that you are being targeted!”

The agitation seemed to get the better of him because his last words were almost a shout.

“Okay,” she said. She looked around furtively, hoping they were not drawing attention. She dropped her voice. “Okay,” she repeated. “I’ll be careful.”

His obvious concern for her made her heart ache. This was more than just nostalgia. He still cared for her.

Bits and pieces of their last words floated through her mind:

_I will always love you._

_But I just can’t see passed this right now._

_I’m sorry._

_I don’t think I can have you in my life._

She had told herself that maybe if she gave him time, time and space like he wanted, he would give her – them – another chance. But the weeks turned to months and the months became years and she had to let him go, she _had_ to.

“Good,” he said shortly. And then, “So I’ll… walk you back to your dorm.”

“Thank you,” said Betty stiffly as he fell into step beside her.

He scoffed. “Thanks is right,” he grumbled. “I just walked away from a half-eaten breakfast.”

Despite his tone, the agitation from earlier seemed to fade. They fell into step together. She walked close to him, close enough so that every few steps his elbow or arm would bump up against hers. He did not move away.

After a few minutes, Jughead said, “What was the cause of death?”

“Strangulation – or so it seems,” said Betty. “I have this contact in the Sheriff’s office. Jimmy, the deputy. I’m planning to call later today to confirm cause of death for Madison.”

“Were they tortured? Raped?”

Betty winced at the grim words, but said, “No. Just strangled. Seems like the killer picks them, kidnaps them, holds them… and then kills them.”

“Murder weapon?”

“Rope,” said Betty. “He ties them up and when he’s ready, he strangles them.” She swallowed. “That’s my working theory anyway.”

“There’s an intimacy to that,” Jughead murmured. “You need to be close. Feel them as they die. A gunshot is quicker, more distanced.”

“More blood to clean up though,” Betty pointed out. “And it’s louder.”

“True,” said Jughead thoughtfully. “The killer would have to be physically strong. Strong enough to kidnap a grown woman anyway, and then kill them. Likely male.”

“Likely,” Betty agreed.

Their chatter continued as they walked back to her dorm. She told him she was working on a story for the _Daily_ about the murders, to try and warn others to stay safe. He told her that he tried to get a return address on the note in his mailbox but had no luck at the post office.

As the elevator dinged for her floor, Betty was focused on whether it was too soon to call Jimmy for an update. She completely forgot that Sandy had texted her after swim practice.

She therefore did not expect to find him waiting for her outside of her dorm room.

Her easy chatter with Jughead faded instantly and she sensed him stiffen next to her.

“Babe!” said Sandy. “I had just about given up on you.”

He closed the distance between them and swept her into his arms, lifting her a few inches into the air before setting her down again. He held onto her arms and continued, “When you didn’t answer my text, I thought I would come by anyway. I know how immersed you get in your books. But I hoped I might be able to convince you to take a study break.”

Sandy waggled his eyebrows at her. Usually Betty found his enthusiasm infectious – in fact, Sandy’s enthusiasm and joy were the main things that drew her to him. He had been _fun_ at a time in her life when she desperately needed fun. But now she felt embarrassed. Couldn’t she have taken Jughead the long way back to campus? Or finished her breakfast? All she wanted was to keep swapping theories with Jughead, trading thoughts on the killer and the murders like they used to do when they were dating.

Some of Sandy’s joy dampened at her silence. He glanced at Jughead as if registering for the first time that she was not alone. “Babe,” he said, “who is your friend?”

Jughead took that as an invitation. He stuck his hand out and then pushed himself between their bodies.

“Jughead,” he said. His voice was pleasant enough, but his posture was tense. He squeezed Sandy’s hand a little too tightly and pumped it a few times. “Betty and I are old friends. From Riverdale. Who are you?”

“I’m Sandy. Betty’s boyfriend,” said Sandy brightly. He was either oblivious to Jughead’s hostility or ignoring it. “It’s nice to meet an old friend of Betty’s. She doesn’t talk about her past much. She certainly never mentioned you.”

Jughead’s jaw visibly clenched. Betty re-evaluated her earlier assessment – maybe Sandy was not as oblivious as he seemed.

Betty clapped her hands together. “Why don’t we go inside?” she said. “I can introduce you two properly.”

“Sounds good, babe,” said Sandy. He moved out of her way so she could unlock the door. He hovered behind her, one hand casually resting on the small of her back.

The lock clicked and Betty pushed the door open, Jughead and Sandy piling in behind her. When the door closed behind Jughead, she immediately regretted her decision to invite them in. There was so little space in the dorm room that the three of them could barely stand without touching.

That seemed to suit Sandy just fine. With his hand still on her back, he guided Betty over to her small twin bed. She took a seat and Sandy sat down next to her, hand immediately going from her back to her knee. She glanced down at his hand and then back at Sandy’s profile. “Possessive” and “insecure” were two words she did not usually associate with him

Jughead perched himself back against her dresser, his arms folded across his chest. He scowled at them.

“So Jughead,” said Sandy. His voice was light - very light and insincere. “How long have you known my Brainiac here for?”

“Cute nickname,” said Jughead. His eyes shifted to Betty’s face. “I’ve known Betty most of my life. We grew up together back in our hometown.”

There was a pause. Betty questioned whether it was time for her to intervene when Sandy said, “You’re a childhood friend.”

There was relief in his voice but then Jughead said, “Childhood friends. Then we dated for – oh was it most of our last three years of high school, Betty?”

Betty shifted awkwardly. This was not how she wanted to join their conversation. “Something like that,” she said vaguely.

“We even lived together,” said Jughead. “Well, not the entire time. Just our senior year.” He paused. “How long have you two been together?”

“Okay, stop,” Betty interjected before Sandy could respond. She gave Jughead a warning look – _that’s none of your business_ , she tried to convey.

He gave her a look back that seemed to say: _Really? This guy?_

Still looking at Betty, Jughead changed gears. “So Sandy,” he said, his tone conversational. “Do you play football? You look like you play football.”

“I’m on the swim team,” said Sandy.

“Ah, the swim team,” said Jughead. “How nice. You must have a full athletics’ scholarship.”

“I do.”

“Good, good,” said Jughead. “You’ll need something to fall back on if you’re not the next Phelps, and let’s be realistic, Sandy, the chances of that are remote at best. And you’re studying, what – accounting? Business?”

“Business,” Sandy acknowledged.

Jughead snapped his fingers. “ _Business_ ,” he repeated as if it was a dirty word. “Well, corporate America will be very lucky to have you.”

Betty glared at him. “Jug, stop,” she hissed.

His gaze found hers, his eyes fierce and unreadable. Sandy gently squeezed her thigh and she looked over at him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he said quietly. “Your old friend here was just asking questions. I don’t mind.” He cleared his throat. “What about you, Mughead? What brings you out here?”

Jughead’s jaw clenched. “It’s Jughead,” he said. “Listen, I was just passing through. I thought Betty needed my help with something.”

Sandy patted Betty’s knee. “Whatever it is, she has me.”

Jughead sighed. “I can see that.” He unfolded his arms and smiled, but his smile was tight and sad. “Betty, you have the message. That was why I came. I think it’s time I go.”

Sandy was puzzled. “What message?”

But Betty was not paying attention to Sandy. All she could see was Jughead going to the door and leaving. She had _just_ got him back – how could he leave now? She pushed herself to her feet and shook off Sandy’s hand. She followed Jughead to the door, turning to Sandy to hiss, “Five minutes. I just need to take of this, okay? And then I’ll be back.”

“Babe – Betty, what is going on?”

“Five minutes,” she repeated. “I’ll explain everything.”

Then she was out the door and tearing after Jughead. Out in the hall, she looked left and right, eyes barely skimming over the other students heading back to their dorms or on their way to class. Her heart sunk – what if he was already gone? But then she spotted him at the stairwell.

“Jug!” she cried.

He paused, hand hovered over the exit, his shoulders stiffening. She chased after him.

“You don’t have to go,” she said, out of breath by the time that she reached him. She pressed a hand to her side, suddenly feeling light-headed. Her early morning start by Madison’s body felt like a lifetime ago. How had all of this been less than one day? “We can grab a coffee,” she said. “We were just starting to connect some of the dots.”

Jughead was looking at a point above her shoulder. “You have a boyfriend,” he said.

“So?” said Betty. She stepped in front of him, blocking his way to the stairwell. She tried to meet his eyes. “You told me yourself, it’s been two years.”

He still refused to look at her. “I don’t want to… interfere. Get in between you.” _Now_ he looked at her. “I would never do that.”

The veiled message was clear. Heat rose in her cheeks. “Jughead, I was _eighteen_. I made a mistake. Archie and I made a mistake,” she hissed. “I am not perfect. I have never been perfect. But _you_ broke things off with me. _You_ told me to leave. What did you expect? I had to move on, Jug. I had to.”

“Of course you did,” he snapped.

“Then _what_?”

“You could have _fought_ for me!” he cried. Betty’s eyes widened and other people in the hall turned around to stare at them. Jughead seemed to realize what he said because his face crumpled with embarrassment and turned away from her, turning to face the wall with his arms crossed around his middle.

“Jug,” she said softly. She wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder. Instead her hands balled into fists at her sides. Her nails pressed dangerously against her palms. “I thought you wanted space.”

He was breathing heavily. “I thought I did, too,” he said. He sounded sad. “I thought I could do this. See you again. I thought enough time had passed. But I don’t think it has.”

She stilled. Her next breath was painful. Silence descended between them until all she heard was her breath and his. He was still facing the wall. The back of her neck prickled from the stares of other students who had stopped to watch them. 

“Let’s talk about this,” she said. “Let’s go for that coffee.”

“No,” he said. His voice was soft. “I’m going to turn around and I am going to go. I came here to deliver that message. You have it now.”

“Jug – ” she tried, but he seemed to gather himself. He turned, his hands falling back to his sides. He did not look at her.

“Stay safe,” he said, almost pleaded. “Goodbye, Betty.”

He pushed by her, opened the door to the stairwell and then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Your comments mean so much for me. Sorry-not-sorry for the angst. :p (Poor Sandy, though. He is in a losing battle. My inspiration for Sandy btw is Armie Hammer, who is maybe one of the world's best looking men IMO, but I guess Betty just has a thing for moody beanie-wearing men who are obsessed with murders. There is no accounting for taste).
> 
> Please always feel free to tumblr me: [@go-ldy](https://go-ldy.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

Betty walked back to her dorm room in a daze. When she opened the door, she found Sandy pacing back and forth. It was almost comical to watch him. His hands were clasped behind his back and each of his long strides covered the length of the small room from the entranceway to her desk. He paused when she opened the door, but then immediately started his pacing again.

She tried to smile at him, but he only scowled in response. She cleared her throat. “Sorry about that,” she said. Again, she tried to smile but her eyes filled with tears. The shock of seeing Jughead again after two years had barely sunk in – only to feel like she was losing him again. And like _that_.

“Oh no, babe,” said Sandy. He stopped his pacing and in a quick stride, closed the distance between them and took her into his arms. Her breath hitched and she allowed him to comfort her, allowed him to wrap his arms around her, his chin coming down to press against the top of her head. Guilt fluttered in her stomach. It was wrong to seek comfort from him with _this_ , but it felt nice, and she was not strong enough to move away.

“What’s going on, babe?” he said. “Talk to me. Please talk to me.”

Betty allowed herself a few more moments to draw comfort from him. Then she pulled away, wiping at her nose.

“Just an unexpected blast from my past,” she said. She did not say: _And the two dead girls who look like me. And their killer who may well be coming for me next._

Sandy was shaking his head. She could tell he was trying to be patient, but that patience was fraying. “Betty, who _was_ that?”

“My ex-boyfriend.” She said it robotically like she was reciting a fact in one of her stories for the _Daily_. The word _ex-boyfriend_ felt so cold, so detached.

Sandy’s voice was gentler. “I gathered that much,” he said. “Let me guess, it ended badly?”

“I kissed his best friend,” said Betty, again in that same robotic voice. The _facts._ She just had to stick to the facts. “And then I hid it from him. I thought that was for the best. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. But it came out anyway. We couldn’t recover from it.”

“I’m sorry that happened,” said Sandy. He looked sympathetic. “But, hey. You were in high school. Those relationships never last.”

“That’s true,” said Betty. Except – she and Jughead, they were in it for the _long haul_ , weren’t they? That had been their plan. It was never supposed to end like it had.

Sandy watched her carefully like he had something he wanted to say but was not sure how to go about it. “The thing is, babe,” he finally managed, “you never talk about that stuff. Your past. I feel like all this time we have been together, and I barely know you.”

Betty shrugged. “There’s not a lot to know.”

“The thing is, I don’t think that’s true.” He sighed, a shuddering sound that seemed to rock through his whole body. “I knew you weren’t letting me in. I knew there was something you were hiding from me. But I thought if I just gave you time and support then you would open up to me. Turner always said I was being an idiot.”

Betty felt a stab of annoyance at the mention of Sandy’s best friend. It did not surprise her that Adrian was trying to interfere in her relationship with Sandy behind her back, but it did bother her that apparently Sandy took at least some of what he had to say to heart.

“You are not an idiot,” she said. She forced her voice to stay calm. “That was exactly what I needed. _You_ were exactly what I needed.”

She let that hang between them but Sandy did not seem mollified. He grew edgier. “What _message_ did he deliver, Betty? What’s going on?”

She bit her bottom lip. The folded scrap of paper that Jughead handed her seemed to burn in her pocket like it was a lit match against her skin. She _should_ tell Sandy. She told Jughead she would be careful – and wouldn’t “careful” include telling her super-swimmer boyfriend that a serial killer was potentially targeting her?

But Sandy was supposed to be _separate_ from this. Untouched by the darkness in her life. And what could be darker than this? Besides, if there really was someone out there who was targeting her… how could she involve him? How could she place him in danger?

She hesitated too long because Sandy held up a hand. “Okay,” he acknowledged. “You have your secrets. I respect that.”

His voice was soft, almost understanding. It made Betty feel worse than if he had been yelling at her.

_I’m sorry_ , she should say. _You’re right and I’m sorry._

And then she should say: _Stay. I’ll tell you everything._

But the truth of it was, she did not want him to stay. Jughead’s brief reappearance in her life had sent her head spinning.

What she _wanted_ was to be left alone with her computer and the articles and photos and clippings she had about Christie and Madison. She needed to find their killer. Before he found her. Or worse – someone else.

She forced herself to smile. A _real_ smile this time, a smile she hoped told Sandy that everything was fine, that there was nothing for him to worry about.

“I have class soon,” she said. “I’ll see you later?”

He looked sad and that _tore_ at her. If Sandy had a mantra, that mantra would be: “ _look on the bright side!”_ She had heard him say it after losing a race he had spent every day for two months training for in the pool (“ _now I have a new time to shoot for_ ”). She heard him say it when he was told he was failing out of Economics 101 (“ _now I can have you tutor me”_ – despite the fact that she did not know the first thing about economics). She heard him say it when they had to rush back to campus in the pouring rain with no umbrellas (“ _I needed a shower!”)._

But it seemed that Sandy could not find a bright side to any of this.

He searched for something to say. “I’ll text you,” he finally managed.

He did not kiss her goodbye. The door clicked shut behind him and Betty was left alone. The quiet suddenly felt suffocating.

At first, she did not move. She was not sure what to _do_. Barricade herself in her room? Go to class?

Her mind drifted to the note in her pocket. She could picture its creased edges like Jughead had folded and unfolded and re-folded the note hundreds of times after he first received it. Almost like in a trance, her hand reached in her pocket and she unfolded the note. She read it again although the words were burned into her mind:

_I REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID TO ME_

_I WIILL KEEP COMING_

_KEEP COMING UNTIL I FIND HER_

She folded the note back up and then took a seat at her computer. She pulled up Christie Blain’s picture on her screen.

***

Three days passed by and Betty was barely aware of them.

Sandy did not text.

Jughead was gone.

She left her room sparingly – six times for meals (breakfast and dinner), four times for coffee in the student lounge, and once a day to use the showers. Each time, she waited until she heard voices in the hall and then she quickly opened her door and tried to blend into whatever student group happened to be walking by. When she slept, she left her desk chair propped up under the door handle to act as one last barrier to anyone who might try and enter her dorm.

Not that she was sleeping much these days.

She had not touched her schoolwork. She had not gone to class.

She _did_ create a murder board. The only place with enough space to hang it was the wall over her bed. _Technically_ the university forbade its students from driving nails into their dorm room walls, but Betty decided this was a worthy exception to that rule.

She printed pictures of Madison and Christie. She attached the pictures she took of the murder scene – the ropes on their hands, the ligature marks, their hair pulled back in that ponytail.

She emailed Madison’s family – her two sisters, and her divorced parents. She said she was with the University’s newspaper and would they please consider talking to her? She did not want to intrude during such a difficult time, but they might have information that could help her warn others from ending up with Madison’s fate.

She received a response from Madison’s mother within minutes, two lines that demanded they be left alone. She filed the email away and made a note to try again in a few weeks. They might feel differently then.

She spoke to Jimmy three times. The first time she called him, he told her he “ _didn’t know anything_.” The second time, he confirmed that Madison’s cause of death was strangulation – “ _the fibers around her neck match the rope binding her hands.”_ The third time, he confirmed that Madison had not been sexually active before death – “ _not raped, it’s not a lot of comfort, Cooper, but it’s something._

The University released a statement about Madison’s death. The statement said the police were investigating, that their thoughts were with her family, and they would share more details once the investigation was complete. The statement vaguely alluded to a memorial that would be held in the future and reiterated the mental health support options available on campus.

The statement did not say anything about serial killers or blonde, green-eyed women being targets. It did not remind its students to avoid going out alone and to travel in groups.

(Betty had a flashback to a feminist seminar she had attended during her first semester about gendered violence on campuses. “ _Why don’t we ask men not to drink too much and to always travel in groups and never go out alone?” roared the professor to a round of applause_. Betty agreed. But also, that was not the reality that they were living in – yet. For now, Betty thought a little reminder about good safety practices could save a life.)

Her head was buzzing. She found herself curling her fists into palms, her nails biting oh-so-temptingly into her skin. Over the years, she had learned distractions when she got like this – see Sandy or a movie or go for a walk to quell her mind and quiet the buzzing.

She picked up her phone. Sandy had not texted like he said he would – but that was fair, was it not? It was _her_ ex-boyfriend who rolled into town. _She_ was the one keeping things from him.

She pulled up his number to text him, but before she could, her phone vibrated with an incoming call. The caller ID simply said: _Unknown Number._

Trepidation curled in her stomach. Years ago, her father as the Black Hood also called her from an unknown number while he was terrorizing Riverdale.

She forced her voice to stay strong when she answered: “Hello?”

The line cracked and snapped like the caller was somewhere remote. Then a tearful voice said, “Is this Betty Cooper, the writer from my sister’s university? My name is Katherine Bennett.”

Betty’s trepidation vanished and sympathy blossomed in its place. “Madison’s sister,” she breathed. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“I got your email,” Katherine continued. “My parents don’t want me talking to you, but what happened to my sister… Maddy would never want anyone else to go through that. What can I do to help?”

Betty’s heart was pounding. She turned her cell on speaker and hastily sat down at her desk and fired on her laptop.

“Was she seeing anyone?” she said. “A boyfriend or someone like that?”

“Yeah,” said Katherine. “She was still with her high school sweetheart. Jon and Madison worked so hard to end up together. She got a full academic scholarship. He got an athletic scholarship.”

“Athletics,” Betty echoed. The word sent her stomach swooping. In all the time she had to think, she had been forced to confront a painful reality. This killer was someone who knew her – or at least knew _of_ her. Since starting university, Betty’s social circle had been small. She had Sandy, and his friends on the swim team. She had her editor and the other writers at the _Daily_.

The truth was, the swim team and anyone close to them had to be top of her list. They were stronger than anyone who worked for the paper, and most of them walked around with a swagger of invincibility that practically screamed they thought they could get away with murder. _Especially Adrian,_ she thought darkly.

Not that she wanted to suspect Adrian. Or anyone else in Sandy’s circle.

She knew she had to consider Sandy a suspect – knew that the prudent thing would be to treat him the same as she was treating everyone else on his team. But her heart ached to do so. It felt like the final nail in the coffin of her relationship with him. If she could not truly trust him, how could she still be with him?

She told herself to focus. On the computer screen she tapped in – _Jon and Madison, high school sweethearts – athletic scholarship._ She forced herself to ask her next question: “Was Jon on the swim team?”

Her heart seemed to still in the moments between her question and Katherine’s answer.

“No,” said the woman, “he played tennis.”

Betty expelled a breath. That separated him from the swim team – _and from Sandy_. But it could not truly eliminate any of them. Jocks at her university tended to gather in groups no matter what sport they played.

She pressed on. “Was he living in a frat house? With the other members of his tennis team?”

“No,” said Katherine. She sounded confused. “He and Maddy lived in an apartment together. They kept to themselves. He’s devastated by this. He quit the tennis team and is considering leaving school as well. You need to understand, Madison was not like you think. She wasn’t a party girl. She didn’t go out with strange men or people she didn’t know. She wouldn’t go to a bar and get so drunk that she couldn’t find her way home – ” Katherine’s voice caught. A ragged sob escaped her, a noise that sounded like a whine through the phone.

“I’m sorry,” Betty said. In a hard voice, she said, “I am going to do everything I can to find your sister’s killer.”

Katherine sobbed again and then in a tremulous voice, she said, “I thought you were a writer for the student newspaper?”

“I am,” said Betty. “But, look, my brother is an FBI agent. He trained me when I was in high school. I used to help him with his cases. I promise you, Katherine, I will use every bit of that training to find out who did this.” She cleared her throat. “Do you know where she was and what she did in the days before she died?”

“She worked at the campus bookstore,” said Katherine. “She said the mob of students buying books for their first semester was finally dying down. She had been working overtime, but she was back to part-time schedule last week. Jon says she went for her normal shift on Sunday afternoon.” She paused and then another sob tore out of her throat. “She never came back.”

On her computer, Betty typed in _job: campus bookstore._ Aloud, she said, “Katherine, do you know if there was anyone out there who might want to hurt Madison?”

“No,” said Katherine. “Like I said, she and Jon kept to themselves, but she was friendly to people.” Through the phone, she heard a commotion in the background and then in a harried voice, Katherine said, “My parents are home. I’ve got to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” said Betty, “I don’t have your number, can I call you back – ”

The line went dead.

***

Katherine never called back but she did give Betty some additions to her murder board.

Above Madison’s picture, she now had a notation for Jon, the boyfriend, and she scribbled _athletics?_ above his name.

Betty ticked her eyes over to Christie’s photo. She had done her piece on Christie for the _Daily_ , but she could not remember if Christie was connected to the athletics program. Christie had been more typically party girl. Her best friend had sobbed into a tissue while mourning how much more difficult it would be to get upper-year students to buy her drinks without Christie at her side.

If the killer did have a connection to the university’s athletics department, it was a tenuous connection. So far, the only evidence she had was that Madison’s boyfriend was on the tennis team, and Betty’s boyfriend was on the swim team.

_Sandy._ She still had to do something about Sandy.

With a sigh, she checked the time. It was early afternoon and Sandy would be finishing practice at the pool. The walk to the pool would take about ten minutes, maybe less if she hurried.

She looked in the mirror. Her hair dangled messily to her shoulders. As if in habit, her hands reached up to tie it back in a ponytail, but then she hesitated. She thought about Madison and Christie and the ponytail the killer had styled for them after their deaths. Better to leave her hair down. She gathered up her purse, and hurried out the door.

She kept her head down as she walked to the pool. She stayed close to other students as she walked. A mantra repeated in her head – _don’t go out alone, travel in groups, wear comfortable shoes._

She released a nervous breath when she made it to the sports complex. She followed the smell of chlorine to the pool area where Sandy and his teammates were finishing up at practice.

The pool was surrounded by rising bleachers. The seats were mostly empty aside from a small gaggle of female students clustered around the bleachers nearest to the diving board. Her jaw clenched. The women all looked like they were preparing for a night on the town – they wore short skirts or tight cut pants. Even from across the pool, Betty could see that their hair was styled, their makeup perfectly applied.

She spotted Sandy down at the other end of the pool. He pulled his bathing cap off his head and then dunked his head underwater. When he breached the surface, he shook his head out, his hair spewing droplets of water in all directions.

The women clustered in the bleachers behind him leaned forward. She could hear them making “oohing” and “ahing” noises.

Betty began marching towards him. Before she could get far, someone lean and muscular moved into her path. _Adrian_.

She almost ran into his naked chest before she pulled herself to a halt. She lifted her chin and then crossed her arms over her chest.

“What?” she snapped.

He almost looked… _hurt_ at her tone, but then he shrugged and said, “You didn’t make it the other night.”

She stared at him. “I’m sorry?”

“I told my girlfriend you were coming,” he said, “I thought you two could… you know, hit it off.”

Betty kept staring at him. She vaguely remembered discussing a team get together to meet Adrian’s girlfriend, but she had never thought he was serious about it.

“Are you kidding?” she said. Normally she would not be so blunt, but she was _tired_ and she was being hunted by a serial killer. What was the point to maintaining the charade that she and Adrian were somehow friendly with one another? “You don’t even like me.”

Adrian tapped his heart with mock exaggeration. “You _wound_ me,” he said. “Look, she’s new here. I just want to help her settle in. This girl is special, Cooper. I’ve never meant anyone like her.”

He looked misty-eyed and Betty did her best to crick her neck to see around him without being obvious about it. She desperately wanted an exit plan from this conversation. Unfortunately, Sandy was still in the pool. He was talking to his coach in a way that suggested he would be there for some time.

She sighed and turned back to Adrian. “I’m happy for you,” she said. She tried to sound genuine. “What’s her name?”

“Misti,” said Adrian. “Misti Brown.” He paused. “You might meet her if you ever come back here again. She likes to watch me practice.”

Betty almost rolled her eyes. _Came to his practices_. _Of course_ Misti came to his practices – just like those other women ogling the swim team from behind the bleachers.

Adrian was still speaking. “Miller would like that, you know. If you came to his practices. Sometimes I catch him looking for you.”

Betty blinked at him. “Sandy’s never asked me to come to one of these,” she said. “He knows I’ve got other things going on. Besides, the cheerleading section of the swim team? That’s not exactly my scene.”

Well, except for a few months in high school when being a cheerleader _had_ been her scene, but she did not need to mention that now.

“Yeah, he’s never asked you because he keeps hoping you’ll show up on your own,” Adrian said. The irritation she had become familiar with from him had crept back into his voice. “He always makes excuses for you, but I know better.”

“Excuses,” Betty began. “What are you –”

Before she could finish, she caught sight of Sandy waving at her from across the pool. She waved back to him. He grinned and then dove back into the water, exuberantly doing a doggy paddle over to where she was speaking with Adrian. He reached their side of the pool and then hauled himself up and to his feet. He playfully nudged Adrian in the side and then grinned at Betty.

He was dripping wet, broad shouldered, and _gorgeous_. Betty was pretty sure she saw some of his fan club in the back starting to swoon.

Now that he was in front of her, she was suddenly at a loss as to what to say. Was she here to apologize to him? Beg for his understanding and forgiveness? Tell him she wanted to give him – _them_ – a real shot?

Or was she here for a much more difficult conversation? Was she here because seeing Jughead again, only for a few hours, was enough to throw her world upside down? Was she here to tell him she did not love him, and she was not sure she ever would, because she was still in love with her ex-boyfriend?

The ex-boyfriend who had turned and left and made it clear he really _was_ done with her this time?

Or was she here to question him as if he and his teammates and anyone else living with him at his frat house were a possible suspect in a murder case?

Sandy shook out his hair and then grinned at her. “Babe,” he said, and he sounded _so pleased_ to see her. “Did you come to watch practice?”

Guilt gnawed at her stomach at the hopeful look on his face. Oh my god, Adrian had been right. Sandy _had_ wanted her at his practices, had wanted to see her cheering him on – and of course he would – who would not want to look up and see their girlfriend in the stands cheering him on? And she had always been too busy – with school, with the _Daily_ , with helping the police on an investigation

“Hey,” Betty said. It felt like her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She cleared her throat and forced herself to go on. “I wanted to talk to you. I’m sorry for not being in touch earlier.”

“No problemo,” he sounded eager, but cautious, like he was telling himself to tread carefully in case he scared her away. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” she said and immediately winced. It was a lie. Another lie. They just kept piling up between them. Had she not learned anything from her time in Riverdale? Lies always unravelled. “Actually,” she said. “I’ve been better.”

Adrian’s head snapped back and forth between them eagerly.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it,” said Sandy. His tone suddenly turned dark. “That… Jugman,” he said.

“It’s Jughead,” said Betty. “And anyway, that’s a nickname. His real name is Forsythe.”

She was not sure why she was telling him that. Judging by Sandy’s responding sigh, Jughead’s name – real or not – was not high up on his list of priorities.

_You’re stalling, Cooper_ , she told herself. _Get to the point._

Adrian was now glaring daggers at her. “Are you cheating on him?” he demanded.

“No!” said Betty. She glared at Adrian and then, because it did not look like he was prepared to give them privacy, she grabbed Sandy by the wrist and dragged him away. She pulled him down to the far side of the pool. Once she felt they were far enough away, she dropped her voice and went on. “Look, seeing Jughead again, it has… brought up feelings I thought were gone.”

“What kind of feelings?” said Sandy. Gone was the eagerness in his voice. Instead, he looked like he would rather be anywhere else than having this conversation with her.

“I’m not sure,” she said. Another lie, but a necessary one. A lie to cushion the blow. “But I think… I think I need some space while I figure it out.”

Sandy sucked in a sharp breath. “Space from me, you mean.”

Betty nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

She saw Adrian staring at them out of the corner of her eye. Sandy’s drooping shoulders and hangdog look would be impossible to ignore.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. He cleared his throat. “Either you want to be with me or you don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. That was all she had to say. “I wish – ”

He held up a hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t need to hear it.” He took a deep breath. “I always knew that this was just… fun for you.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It _was_ ,” he said. “Betty, come on. I went along with it. I was fine with it. But a part of me hoped that… well, it doesn’t matter now. I hope it goes well with you and Mughead.”

“Jughead,” she corrected automatically.

“Yeah, whatever.” He turned and looked over at Adrian. He scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I’ve got to get back to practice.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sandy, I’m so sorry – ”

“I get it,” he said. “I’ll see you around.”

Without another word, he turned and headed back to Adrian, back to his team. Betty watched him go, the guilt twisting knots in her stomach.

***

Another day passed by. Betty dragged herself to class. She half-listened to her lectures. She scribbled notes that would do her no good. She called her editor at the _Daily_ and asked him for an extension. He pointed out that her story was already two days late.

She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff waiting for a landslide that would drag her down to the other side.

She was about to shut off her light on another day when Jimmy called. She grabbed her phone, checked the time – 11:00 p.m. – and answered with a breathless, “Hello?”

“There’s been another one,” he said as her stomach sunk. “Outside the football field. A crowd is gathering. Get here soon.”

This time, she did not stop for coffee. She grabbed her keys and bolted from the room, barely remembering to lock it behind her. Halfway to the football field, she belatedly regretted rushing outside on her own, at night, but it seemed too late now. Besides, if the killer had just picked a fresh victim, chances were he would not be coming back for seconds the same night.

She spotted the crowd first. Jimmy was right. It was growing – and fast. A body dumped near the football bleachers before midnight? That was a public spectacle.

She pushed through the crowd as much as she could: “I’m with the _Daily_ ,” she shouted as she elbowed her way through the bodies. She looked around for Jimmy. He was doing crowd control – demanding that people “ _stand back, this is your last warning, we will arrest you_ ” while someone else from his office frantically tried to deploy police tape.

Betty was just wondering how she was going to get any closer, much less get a chance to examine the body directly, when someone else fell into step beside her. She immediately tensed and her fingers disappeared into her pocket, clasping around her dorm room key.

She glanced over and then gasped. “Jughead?”

He smiled wanly and then put a hand on her back. She was surprised by the contact and the sudden _bolt_ of electricity it sent through her. She opened her to ask him what he was doing, but then she realized that he was guiding her through the crowd and using his spare arm to push others away from them.

“Hey,” he said. He said “hey” like it had only been a few hours since he last saw her, like everything between them was _normal_ , and they weren’t currently pushing through a mob of people to get closer to another student who had just been _murdered_ by a serial killer who might be obsessed with her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you know,” he said darkly. “Investigating a murder.” He managed to push a few more people out of the way and inch them further to the body. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She glared at his profile. “You know why I’m here,” she said. “I thought you left town.”

He turned to look at her. “Not yet,” he said. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but then someone pushed them from behind and they stumbled forward. Jughead’s arm went from her back to her elbow and he helped steady her as they came to a halting stop in front of the police tape.

She counted four other officers in addition to Jimmy. One officer was helping Jimmy with crowd control. The other three were photographing the body and taking measurements of the scene.

She caught Jimmy’s eyes, but he only shook his head at her. She would not be getting close access this time around.

Her eyes drifted back to the body. She stood on her tiptoes and tilted her head to get a better look.

She expected another blonde-haired woman with ropes around her wrist and her hair tied back in a ponytail.

Instead she saw a man. He looked to be about her age. Like Madison, he was naked, his wrists bound behind his body. He was thin and wiry. An officer bent down in front of him and snapped a few pictures, hiding him briefly from view. The officer stood up, moved over a few feet and then bent down again. Betty’s eyes travelled the length of the body. He had a mop of unruly dark hair. And on his head was a hat. A beanie. Pulled over his ears.

Betty’s stomach tightened and rolled over. Her next breath felt painful. Jughead’s hand was on her back again and he stepped in closer to her. Not to protect her from the crowd this time, but as if to draw comfort from her.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” she whispered.

“I’ll never unsee it,” said Jughead in a low voice. 

She felt cold inside. Seeing Madison had been bad enough, but _this_ somehow felt targeted, more deliberate. A message. A message that said the killer knew Jughead was here and they were being watched.

She pulled out her phone and snapped as many pictures as she dared. Her hand shook. She forced a deep breath and steadied herself. They needed to stay calm. The killer _wanted_ to plant seeds of doubt and fear in her mind. She leaned in a little more tightly to Jughead’s side and snapped another picture.

Jughead leaned in to whisper in her ear. She felt his breath against her cheek and neck. “People are staring at me.”

She looked around for Jimmy. He was speaking to one of his officers and then gesturing to the crowd that had gathered around the body. There was no chance she would be getting a private chat with him any time soon.

She nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot ~thickens. Thanks to all of you for all your kind words and feedback so far. Your comments means so much to me and I've really enjoyed reading some of your theories!! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Betty and Jughead sat across from each other in a booth at Alice’s. The diner was quiet. There were only a few other patrons scattered throughout the other tables. Most of them were students with their laptops open and books strewn across their tables.

Betty yearned for a cup of coffee, but she had settled for a green tea. The last thing she needed was another caffeine induced sleepless night.

Jughead ordered a milkshake and plate of fries, but he left the fries mostly untouched. He sipped from the milkshake, his gaze distant and far away.

Other than placing their orders, neither of them had said much. Betty’s mind whirled over what they had just seen.

Finally, Betty cleared her throat. “Jug, the body, it looked like – ”

“ – like me,” he said. “I know.”

“They know you’re here,” Betty whispered. “They know that message – that _note_ they sent you, that it got you here.” She paused. “Why _are_ you still here? I thought you left town.”

He stared at her incredulously from across the table. “Betty, you were in danger,” he said. His voice cracked and he stopped. He cleared his throat a few times before trying again, his voice steadier. “No matter what’s happened between us, I would never leave.” He paused, and in a softer voice, added, “I’m sorry for the other day. I acted like a jerk.”

“No,” she said automatically, and then stopped. She smiled tightly. “Okay, yeah, you did. A little.”

“I really am sorry,” he said. Then he shook his head. “It was hard seeing you with… it was hard.” He swallowed. “But I’m glad that you are doing well. That you’re happy.”

He did not sound glad. She felt a flush creeping up her neck and she hurriedly took a sip of tea. She could tell him that ‘ _happy_ ’ was not quite the right word – _content_ , perhaps? She had found a way to get by. And anyway, that was finished now. She had ended things with Sandy.

But it seemed safer to direct the conversation back to the matters at hand. “You’re being targeted too,” she said. “That body tonight proves it.”

His next breath was shaky. “They are after both of us.”

“And he or she is watching us.” Betty sucked in a sharp breath. “Worse, they _want_ us to know we’re being watched.”

Jughead glanced darkly around the diner like he was having the same thoughts. “Any theories on who it is?”

Betty shrugged and sipped at her tea again. “For a few moments there, I thought it could be someone in athletics. Maybe even on the swim team. Someone who knew me through Sandy.”

Jughead looked down at his fries. He idly moved one around on his plate and then with reluctance, he said, “I had the same thought.”

“I hated to suspect him – or anyone connected to him, but I couldn’t rule it out. But now….” She paused. “I think it’s someone we know, Jug. From Riverdale.”

“Someone who thinks we wronged them,” Jughead murmured. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then rested his elbows on the table. “Betty, I have to tell you, that’s not a short list.”

She felt a laugh bubble up inside of her and she swallowed it down. She worried it might make her sound hysterical. “It’s someone who is willing to kill just to send us a message.”

“If only that narrowed down the list,” said Jughead. He sighed and then started counting off on his fingers. “Okay, we have Penny Peabody. She’s still leading the Ghoulies. The Serpents try and stay out of the way, but….”

“She’s not exactly the forgiving type,” said Betty.

“That’s an understatement,” said Jughead. “What about Chic?”

Betty winced. “Last I heard, he was out on parole.”

“He definitely has a few bones to pick with us.”

“Then there’s Penelope Blossom,” said Betty. “Cheryl said she would keep her on a tight leash, but…”

“Can’t count her out,” said Jughead. He unfurled another finger. “That brings our list up to three. And of course, we can’t forget about my Stonewall Prep classmates.”

“Add in Bret, Donna, and Joan and we’re at a list of six.” Betty glanced down at her tea and watched the steam rise and waft to her face. “Six people who could theoretically want to kill us.”

Jughead hesitated, but then said. “There’s the Farm. I know your mother killed Edgar, but Evelyn is still out there.”

“Evelyn should still be in prison. But you’re right. It’s too early to rule her out.” She paused. “Jug, this was planned. The note, the victims – the way that they are being dressed up for us. This is methodical. Sophisticated. Who does that remind you of?”

“It does have an air of entitled prep school student,” Jughead confirmed. He hissed out a breath. “On the other hand, Chic spent a year dressing up as the Gargoyle King. What’s more sophisticated than that?”

“I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘sophisticated,’” said Betty.

“This killer is a fan of clues and notes and symbolism. That’s G&G all over again, isn’t it?”

“That just brings us back to Penelope.” She sighed. “You know who else this reminds me of?”

He inclined his head. His fingers tapped nervously against the table. “The Black Hood.”

“Yeah,” said Betty. Her voice caught. “He also targeted me while he was killing.”

Jughead slid his hand across the table. His fingers brushed against her wrist, swiped across her palm. She opened her hand and then his fingers laced through hers. She stared down at their clasped hands, feeling something powerful and desperate clawing up against her throat.

“He’s dead, Betty.”

Jughead’s words were strong, but gentle. A reminder to bring her to reality again.

“He faked his death before.”

“We buried his body.”

“I know,” she said. “There could be copycats out there. Others who bought into the insanity that he was selling.”

“It can’t be discounted,” Jughead acknowledged. He drew his hand back to his side. Betty flexed her fingers. Her hand suddenly felt cold, empty. He continued, “What about Hiram Lodge? He’s tried to kill me before.”

“This doesn’t seem like his style,” said Betty. “It’s… messy.”

“It’s public,” Jughead agreed. “But we should still rule him out.”

“I’ll add our suspects to the board,” Betty murmured.

“The board?”

Betty took a sip of tea, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She shifted in her seat. “I built a murder board back in my dorm room. You know, like we used to do when we were in high school.”

“Ah,” said Jughead. He picked up a fry and then tossed it back down on his plate as if he could not conjure up any appetite for it. If Jughead Jones could not summon up the energy to eat a French fry, things really were dire.

She suddenly felt bold. “Where are you staying?”

“I have a ShareBnB near the highway. It’s not much to write home about, but it has a clean bed. Why?”

Her cheeks were burning, but continued, “I just thought… well, I thought maybe you would you like to come back to my dorm room with me?” She hurriedly added, “To see the murder board.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I would really like that.”

***

Campus was dark and nearly deserted. Word of the murder must have filtered through the student body, and it looked like students had taken it upon themselves to hunker down.

She and Jughead walked briskly, their pace in tandem with each other. By unspoken agreement, they each kept close watch on their surroundings, nudging each other when they caught sight of someone else in the distance. They were careful to give anyone they passed a wide berth.

It was the early hours of the morning when they made it back to her dorm room. She flicked on the light switch when she entered, Jughead right behind her. She winced as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. She took a few steps into the room and then shrugged out of her jacket, tossing it on the edge of the bed.

Jughead spoke from behind her. “I like the murder board.” His voice sounded hoarse. “Takes me back.”

Betty could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck. Her skin seemed to hum. If she took even a step back, her back would bump against his chest.

“Take you back to where?” she managed to say. The words were an effort. She was breathless.

“A better time in my life,” he said in response. Then his hands were on her hips and he was pressing up against her and she let out a soft gasp that could have been a moan.

His hand dipped under her shirt, his bare hand pressing against her hip and then trailing along to her stomach. Her heart was _pounding_ and she dropped her head back, trying to reach him with her lips. She managed to press her lips to his neck and his chin – and then he was turning her around, gathering her in his arms and his mouth crushed down against hers. Her knees almost buckled under the force of his kiss, but then she leaned into it, returning the kiss with a force of her own. His hands were on her back, trailing a path of fire across her back. Every part of her that he touched seemed to light up under his hands.

She was making moaning noises against his mouth and he responded with grunts of his own. His tongue flicked out across her bottom lip. He walked her backwards, still kissing her, pulling and tugging at her shirt. The back of her legs hit the bed. The vibration startled her and she broke away from Jughead. The loss of contact was almost painful. She sought out his eyes, wanting to ask if this was okay – wanting to ask him to keep kissing her, to _stay_.

But the words would not escape her lips. She was not sure what she would do if he turned her down.

He held her eyes and then slowly unzipped his jacket. He threw it aside and then pulled the beanie off his head, tossing it so it landed on top of the jacket.

Then he looked back at her, his eyes questioning, as if to ask: _Is this okay?_

She almost wanted to cry at the sincerity and gentleness in his eyes. She could only nod. With trembling fingers, she lifted the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She stood half-naked in front of him, clad only in a bra and her jeans. The air in the room suddenly felt cold and she shivered.

Then Jughead’s hands were on her waist, his thumbs sweeping over her sides before his hands dipped behind her back. She moaned again and automatically tilted her neck. He pressed kisses along the curve of her neck and her chin. His kisses made her shiver and she pressed herself against him. His clothes felt crisp against her bare skin.

His hands travelled up her back until they reached the clasp of her bra. It took him a few tries to unhook her bra and she found herself biting down a smile at the nervous shaking of his fingers against the skin of her back. She was not the only one who was nervous.

He finally managed to unhook her bra. She let it drop down over her hands and land on the floor between them. Jughead’s hands stilled on her back and his gaze swept over her, eyes focused and intense.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

The awe in his voice made her want to cry. She pulled at the bottom of his shirt, but her hands felt heavy, uncoordinated. He helped her pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside.

Then she closed the distance between them and she pressed up against his chest – skin against skin. Her lips were back on his, his hands smoothing down her back. It felt so _good_ , so _right_.

She fell back against the bed, pulling Jughead down on top of her. It took them a minute to adjust to the small space on top of the bed, but then his body was covering hers and his lips were trailing kisses across her face and her neck.

He pulled away, his hair mussed, his eyes bright.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said. The words were so raw that they almost sounded broken. “Betty, you have no idea how hard it was for me when you left.”

She felt tears welling in her eyes. “I should have stayed,” she said. “I should have fought for you.”

“That doesn’t matter now,” he said. He gazed down at her, and his next words were sharp like they were physically painful for him to say. “Betty, I don’t think we can do this. Not right now.”

“What do you mean?” she cupped his face. “Jughead, I know you want this just as much as I do.”

He leaned into her hand, his lips pressing a kiss to her palm. The mere feel of his lips against her hand sent shivers coursing through her.

“You don’t know how much,” he practically groaned. But then he pushed himself off her, to his knees. Losing contact with him felt like being ripped in two. She drew her legs back and sat up, arms crossing over her breasts. She suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed.

“What is it?” she said. “Jug?”

He looked away from her, at the murder board, and then up to the ceiling. “You have a boyfriend,” he said.

She felt like someone had doused her with cold water. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, suddenly feeling embarrassed and guilty.

She had forgotten about Sandy.

She could tell that Jughead was thinking about how they broke up – about her and Archie, and that they kept it from him. She had thought that was best at the time. She never wanted anyone to get hurt.

_That was different_ , she wanted to say. _That was a mistake. This…_

This could never be a mistake.

“Jug,” she said. She met his gaze. “It’s over. We broke up.”

She watched him as he registered that. His eyes deepened to something heavy and lidded. She was not sure who moved first, but they were _on_ each other. The force of Jughead’s kiss sent her mind reeling and her stomach fluttering.

He pushed her onto the bed and propped his weight up on his forearms. She touched his chest, his sides, dipped her hands against his spine and enjoyed the way he moaned and groaned in response to her touch. He pulled back, breath heavy and his cheeks flushed. He fumbled with his pants, hurriedly and awkwardly pulled down the zipper and began to tug them off.

She pulled him to her as his pants landed in a heap on the floor at the foot of her bed. It felt amazing to have her skin pressed against his. She lifted her hips to grind against him. He muffled a groan and then buried his face in her neck, his breath warm and his lips pressing kisses to her collarbone.

He kissed his way up her neck. Then his lips found hers again. His kiss was gentle and he tangled his hands in her hair. She wiggled her hips again, enjoying the rumble of pleasure he made against her mouth. But then he pulled away, eyes dark with desire.

“You first,” he managed.

A spike of need and anticipation coursed through her and she found herself nodding. She leaned up to kiss him, hands cupping his face, before she settled back down against the pillows. Her eyes fluttered shut as he kissed his way down her body.

***

Betty woke up early. Muted fall sunlight peaked in through the curtains drawn across the window.

Jughead’s arm was wrapped around her middle, his face pressed against her shoulder.

She wiggled to try and draw herself free without waking him, but the bed was small and there was nowhere to go. Back in high school, they had shared smaller spaces than this – the couch in Veronica’s apartment at the Pembrooke, Jughead’s bunkbed at Stonewall Prep, and the tiny cot in the bunker.

But a twin bed was not meant for two adults in their early 20s.

Jughead must have felt her stirring because the arm around her waist tightened. A sleepy voice said, “Hey.”

His breath puffed against the shell of her ear and she shivered. He must have felt her react because he pressed up against her backside.

“I really enjoyed our time together last night,” he murmured.

Her stomach fluttered and pleasant shivers shot up and down her spine. She pressed back against him and enjoyed his quiet responding moan.

He suddenly did not seem so asleep. His fingers dipped under her shirt and explored her stomach, rubbing the most _distracting_ patterns against her skin.

“We have a murderer to catch,” Betty tried, “and alibis to check—”

Jughead pressed his lips against the back of her neck and she arched against him.

“We’ll get to that,” he murmured. “Right now, we have lost time to catch up on.”

What could she say to that?

She rolled over. He looked at her with a hint of a smile, but with sadness too, like he was thinking about the long two years apart and how they would never get that time back.

She kissed him. His breath was stale but she did not care. Her teeth bumped against his lips, but he only pulled her closer until his leg hooked over hers. He rolled over on top of her, his hips grinding down against hers in a way that made her gasp.

Any objections she had were swallowed by another kiss.

***

Later, after they both showered, they sat cross-legged on Betty’s bed, drank coffee, and talked about where to go next. She had changed into a fresh shirt and underwear, but Jughead was stuck in what he had been wearing the night before.

They had not talked about their night (and early morning) together, not yet. She insisted that they had narrow the list of suspects and check alibies. But she felt… relaxed in a way she had not in a long time. She felt clear eyed and focused.

She insisted on drawing up a list of all possible suspects for the murder board. The list contained the names of anyone from Riverdale who could still be harbouring a revenge fantasy against them.

First up on the list was Penelope Blossom. She glanced at Jughead. He had her laptop open on his lap and was busy trying to find the whereabouts of his former Stonewall Prep classmates.

“I guess I’ll call Cheryl,” she said.

He glanced at her with a grateful smile. “I am so sad to miss her. Give her my best.”

Betty snorted. “And announce to Cheryl that we’ve…” _got back together_ , she almost said before remembering that they had not even come close to that conversation yet. She swallowed, and hurriedly said, “That we’re hanging out again.”

“Right,” said Jughead. “On second thought, better not mention me at all.”

“Better not,” Betty agreed as she dialled Cheryl’s number.

The phone rang three times before a delighted voice greeted her on the other side, “Cousin,” said Cheryl. “To what do I owe this immense pleasure?”

“I…” it suddenly seemed rude to immediately dive into questioning Cheryl about Penelope’s whereabouts when they had not talked in months. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Cheryl sounded amused. “Dearest Betty,” she said. “You have never once called me to see how I was doing. You need something from me. But I’ll bite.”

Before Betty could interject, Cheryl launched into a long monologue about how she had already taken complete control of the Starlight cheerleading squad and maintained a near perfect GPA. She explained that there was a rival cheerleading squad from their sister school who had sent in _undercover_ cheerleaders to steal their routines. She and Toni were working on ferreting out the leak and just _who did this girl think she was_ , daring to pass herself off as a member of _Cheryl’s_ squad.

Betty listened as patiently as she could while Jughead typed away on the laptop.

Finally, Betty sensed that Cheryl might be winding down. “I’m so glad that you and Toni are doing well,” she said in a rush. Then, trying to sound delicate, she said, “And what do you hear from your mother these days? She hasn’t by any chance escaped…. and decided to start another game of Gryphons and Gargoyles?”

Cheryl’s voice turned suspicious. “In some trouble, cousin?”

“Not exactly,” said Betty. “Just trying to rule some things out. Cheryl, please. If you have information about Penelope then I really need to know.”

“Mumsie is still safe and sound with Nana Rose at Thistle House,” said Cheryl. “I keep an ankle monitor on her at all times. It sends me location and heart rate data every 20 minutes. Believe me, there is nothing that woman can do without me knowing about it.”

“That’s nice, Cheryl,” Betty responded automatically. “I appreciate it.”

“Betty,” said Cheryl. She sounded genuinely concerned. “Is everything okay out there? If you need help with anything, anything at all, you know that TT and I would be there for you.”

“I know, Cheryl,” she whispered. “And I appreciate it. I’m fine. Knowing Penelope is still in Riverdale helps a lot. Thanks.”

She hung up before Cheryl could interrogate her further. Cheryl had an uncanny ability to get under Betty’s skin like no one else. She worried that any longer on the phone and Betty really would blurt out that she and Jughead were seemingly being stalked by a killer from their past. The last thing their investigation needed was Cheryl and Toni showing up at her doorstep.

She dropped the phone down on the bed. “We can cross Penelope off our list. Any luck with the Preppies?”

“Nothing,” said Jughead. “Any link I find just takes me right back to when they were kicked out of Stonewell Prep. Since then, it’s like they’ve disappeared.” He sighed and then rubbed at his forehead. “I’ll try my dad. Maybe he can at least tell us where Penny is these days.”

“I’ll call Shankshaw Prison,” said Betty heavily.

A few minutes later, Betty crossed Evelyn off her list when a helpful administrator at Shankshaw Prison told her that Evelyn would not be eligible for parole for another six months.

FP confirmed to Jughead that, as far as he knew, Penny was still in Greendale.

Calls to Chic’s parole officer went straight to voicemail. Jughead tried to find him on Google, but like the Preppies, the only news he found was about the murders he had committed as the Gargoyle King. As a last-ditch effort, Betty texted Charles and asked if he could do any digging on Chic’s last known location.

That left them with Hiram Lodge. Betty purposely left him for last. Crossing Hiram off their list meant contacting Veronica, and Veronica had not spoken to Betty since Senior Prom, the night Betty’s kiss with Archie reverberated through Riverdale High.

The last few years, she had almost adjusted to Jughead’s absence in her life. It had been a gnawing hole, but she had found ways to fill that hole – the _Daily_ , her classes, Sandy. But thinking about Veronica? It was like swallowing glass that burned its way down her throat and into her stomach.

Jughead watched her face like he knew what she was thinking. “We still text,” he said gently. Betty must have looked confused because he added, “Veronica and I. Ever since…”

He did not need to finish that sentence. She knew where it was going. Ever since she and Archie cheated on and betrayed them.

Guilt and shame roiled uncomfortably in her stomach.

“Text her then,” she said. She tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice was biting.

He stared at her thoughtfully and made no move to pick up his phone. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t you?” she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. “You not talking to me for two years certainly delivered a message.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “I needed time. I felt betrayed.”

Her fists clenched, hard enough that she felt the rush of pain from her nails biting into her palms.

“We were young,” she said, voice high-pitched and shaky. She swallowed and tried again. “You almost _died_. Then we were graduating and Archie and I…” she trailed off. She was trying to make excuses.

Her nails dug in harder. The bed dipped as Jughead moved closer to her. He placed his hands over hers, swept his thumbs over the back of her hands until he felt some of her tension relax.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I know that. I’m not mad anymore.”

She gave him a disbelieving look and he ducked his chin. “Okay. I was a _little_ mad. But Betty, that night we just spent together? I’m not sure how I lasted these last two years without you.”

Her heart felt like it would burst. She did not trust herself to speak. Instead she leaned forward and kissed him, a chaste peck before she pulled away.

“I’ll call Veronica,” he said. “She just needs time, Betty. She’ll get there.”

Betty nodded. Jughead pulled out his phone and then hopped off his bed. He disappeared out into the hall to make the call and closed the door behind him.

When he was gone, Betty pushed herself to her feet and then turned to stare at the murder board.

They did not yet have a name for the man who had been killed last night. The Sherriff’s Office had released a terse statement saying only that the Sherriff was investigating a probable death on campus and warning the community to stay vigilant.

The university also released a short statement asking students to travel in pairs and keep their dorm rooms locked.

She had already called Jimmy twice with no response. _Well_ , she thought _, the third time was supposed to be the charm_.

She pulled up his number and dialled. The phone rang twice before Jimmy answered. “Hello, Deputy Jim Davis here.”

“Jimmy, it’s Betty.”

There was an audible groan before Jimmy said. “Ah, investigator Cooper. Always a pleasure. I’m guessing this is more than just a friendly chat?”

“You could say so.” She allowed for a beat of silence before she dove in. “Who was that man last night? Was he connected to the others? Have you run the fibers on the ropes yet? Have you any suspects?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Jimmy. “Slow down, Cooper. Haven’t they taught you to ask questions in easily digestible bites in journalism school?”

“Sorry,” said Betty. She was not that sorry. “Who was he?”

“His name was Kyle Johnson. And before you ask, he was not a student at your university. He doesn’t even live near the university. He worked the drive-thru window of McRonald’s on the edge of town. He left his shift as normal two days ago and never came home.”

Betty’s mind whirled. Not a student. Did the killer target him specifically? Because he looked like Jughead? Maybe it was not even planned – maybe whoever did it just happened to be in the mood for a Big Ron and took advantage of an opportunity that presented itself.

“Have you got video surveillance from the drive-thru window?”

“Of course,” said Jimmy. “Our guys have gone through it frame by frame. But nothing pops up in our database.”

“I want to see it,” said Betty.

“Look, Cooper, I get that this whole Nancy Drew routine is your thing, but this is an active police investigation.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jimmy sighed. “Tonight. 10:00 p.m. Meet me at the precinct.”

“Thanks Jimmy,” she said. “What about cause of death? Same as the others?”

“The very same,” he said. “He was strangled to death. There were rope burns along his wrists and over his harms. He gave the killer one hell of a fight back.”

“Sexually assaulted?”

“No.”

“What about that.... hat thing he was wearing?” she struggled with the words. “That beanie?”

“Clean,” he said. “Full of Kyle Johnson’s DNA of course, but nothing left behind by our killer.”

“I mean,” said Betty, “did Kyle… normally wear a beanie like that?”

“Or was it something the killer added?” Jimmy said. “We’re not sure yet. The family is coming in for an interview later this afternoon.” He swore softly. “I hate this part.”

“I’m sorry,” Betty said. She was. “What about the rope? Any lead on those fibers?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Jimmy. “Just about the only lead we have so far. We traced them to a local hardware store. Fix 4 U.” He made a noise of disgust. “This guy is showing up all over town. Sooner or later he is going to make a mistake, and we are going to be there to catch him when he does.”

“You will,” said Betty.

“You got that right,” said Jimmy. “It’s weird, though. Him changing victims like this. Usually serial killers fixate. The two blonde girls? That made a certain amount of messed up sense. He had a type. But you throw Kyle into the mix… none of it makes any damn sense.”

Betty’s mouth was dry. “You’ll figure it out,” she forced herself to say. “Thanks for everything, Jimmy. I owe you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all of you for reading. I hope you liked this chapter - I am honestly no good at slow burn. :p As always, I live for your comments and reactions! Thanks for all of your support so far.


	5. Chapter 5

Betty stood on her bed to fasten a picture of Kyle Johnson to the murder board. She had found him on Photobook. He was in his early 20s, liked Lacrosse and loved his grandmother, and had a crooked smile with a dimple on one side of his chin. He was not wearing a beanie in any of his Photobook pictures. Without the beanie, his only resemblance to Jughead was a passing similarity in their build and colouring.

She taped the last edge of his photo to the murder board when the door opened behind her. She glanced over her shoulder as Jughead entered her room, pocketing his phone.

She could not stop her voice from sounding accusatory. “That took some time.”

Jughead shifted uncomfortably. “We had things to catch up on.”

She almost asked what that meant. Did he mean _things like her_ – like Betty? Or were he and Veronica simply catching up on their lives as friends did? Until now, she never would have thought of Veronica and Jughead as friends. The fact that they had apparently carried on this friendship over the last two years made her feel strangely envious. She was not jealous in a romantic sense – she knew that there was not anything like that between them – but she felt… left out.

She swallowed those feelings down. “And Hiram?”

“Travelling abroad with Hermione. Veronica says they are in Sicily.”

Betty raised her eyebrows. “Huh.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jughead. “I can only imagine what kind of business they have in Sicily. But Veronica has pictures. They spent all of yesterday on a wine tour.”

Betty sighed and then crossed Hiram Lodge’s name off the murder board. Penny, Evelyn, and Penelope were also crossed out.

“That just leaves Chic and your former Stonewall Prep classmates.”

“An exclusive list,” said Jughead.

“Time to narrow it down some more,” said Betty. “I finally heard from Jimmy. We have a hardware store to visit. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

***

Fix 4 U had seen better days. Its front façade was crumbling and weeds grew out of the cracks and ridges of its front steps. Inside was no better. The aisles were dusty and cluttered. The overhead lighting was flickering. It looked like a store that had thrived on community foot traffic ten years ago, but was now dying a slow death as big box stores and internet delivery companies strangled its business.

Other than Betty and Jughead, the store was empty. There seemed to be one store employee – an older gentleman working at the cash register. He was in his early 50s with a receding hairline and a round face.

Betty and Jughead exchanged a look.

“The owner?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Chances are a place like this can’t afford to hire many employees.”

They approached the counter and Betty watched with some admiration how Jughead’s demeanor changed from pensive and worried to open and friendly.

“Hey there,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “My name is Bert and this is Taylor. We’re private investigators. Hired by the family of one those girls killed on campus. What’s your name?”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Allan,” he said. He looked back and forth between them. “Aren’t you kids a little young to be PIs?”

“We’re older than we look,” said Betty. She leaned forward and smiled at the man. “That’s part of our success. We put people at ease. Right Burt?”

Jughead’s voice was cheerful. “That’s right, Taylor.”

The man looked dubious, but he said, “Well, like I already told the police, I just a run a hardware shop. I don’t know anything about any murder.”

“We know that,” said Jughead easily. “But Al – can I call you Al? – Al, we know that the killer came here. Probably in the last few weeks. That makes you a very important witness. In fact, the _only_ witness. You could be the one to break this case wide open.”

Allen looked like he wished someone else would be responsible for breaking the case wide open.

Betty decided to switch tracks. “Are you the owner?”

Allen nodded. “Yes. Me and my wife. We’ve been in business almost 30 years.”

“That’s amazing,” Betty gushed. “I love your store. You’ve done so much with it. Does anyone else work with you? Or is it just the two of you these days?”

“My son,” said Allen. “Some days. But he is lazy. A teenager.”

Jughead nodded solemnly. “I have a teenage sister at home. I know the type.”

Betty dug into her purse and pulled out some photos she printed from the internet. She set them down in front of Allen. The photos were of Donna, Bret, and Chic. Donna and Bret were in their Stonewall Prep uniforms – they had printed the photos from one of the articles that covered their near-murder of Jughead. The photo of Chic was one her mother had taken, before they knew that he had only been masquerading as Betty’s brother. He was casually reclining on the couch in front of the TV in the Cooper house. His eyes were open in surprise like he did not know his picture was being taken until it was too late to stop it.

“Do you recognize any of these people?” Allen gave the photos a cursory glance. “Please,” said Betty. “It’s important.”

Allen sighed and leaned forward to study the pictures. Meanwhile, Jughead backed away, and she heard his footsteps disappear down one of the aisles behind her.

“Never seen any of these people before,” he mumbled. Then he looked up at Betty and said, “As far as I remember. We have many customers.”

Betty forced herself to keep a straight face. “Do you have video surveillance?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “We got one camera behind the cash.” He gestured over his shoulder. “Runs on a 24 hour loop. Chances are, it doesn’t have what you’re looking for. Anyways, the police already took what I have.”

He looked perturbed by this as if he realized for the first time he would need more tape for the camera.

Jughead’s footsteps trotted back over to them. She glanced over at him and then raised her eyebrows. He was holding on to rope – _the_ rope – the rope that the killer used to bind and strangle Christie, Madison, and Kyle.

“Do you remember _anyone_ buying this in the last few days?” said Jughead. “The last few weeks? Anyone at all?”

Allen screwed up his face like something was eating at the edge of his mind but then he shook his head.

“Like I said, we get a lot of customers. I can’t remember everyone who comes in here for rope. Lots of people buy rope.”

Betty sighed. With the last of her patience, she slid the photos of Bret, Donna, and Chic over the counter to him.

“Please show these to your wife and son.” She poured as much sincerity into her words as she could. “Please.”

He hesitated but then took the photos. “Neither of us have seen any of these people in our life,” he muttered. “But I’ll bring them home tonight.”

“Thank you,” said Betty. She gave him her number and they left the store.

***

“Well that was a colossal waste of time,” said Jughead. They had opted to take the stairs up to Betty’s room rather than the elevator. It gave them more opportunity to talk without worrying about prying ears.

“Not a complete waste of time,” said Betty. “We learned the killer has been planning this. He or she scoped that place out ahead of time. They _knew_ the surveillance tape overwrote itself every day and that the owners were one step away from bankruptcy.” Betty released a frustrated breath. “I keep feeling like we’re one step behind and we can’t catch up.”

“Hey,” said Jughead. “We are not giving up hope. We still have the McRonald’s surveillance tape tonight. Maybe we’ll catch something the police missed.”

Betty opened the door to her floor and then came to a stop. Sandy was sitting outside her dorm room, head in his hands. Jughead nearly ran into her from behind.

“Betty, what are you… oh.”

They both froze, Betty in the stairwell with the door open in front of her, Jughead hovering behind her.

“I thought you broke up with him,” he hissed.

“I did,” Betty hissed back. “I mean, I didn’t tell him that you and I were going to…” again, she found herself searching for the right words and settled on, “start seeing each other again. But I did end things.”

“Are you sure?”

She turned to give him a dirty look and then marched down the hall towards Sandy. Jughead sighed and then followed her.

Sandy looked up at Betty’s approach. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips pulled back in a grimace. He caught sight of Jughead behind Betty and his scowl grew.

“What, um… what are you doing here?” she asked carefully.

Sandy pushed himself to his feet – or _tried_ to push himself to his feet. As he rose, he lost his footing and groped to steady himself on the door behind him.

“Whoa – ” Betty caught his arm and then wrinkled her nose. “Have you been _drinking_?”

Sandy had the sense to look guilty. “That’s what Turner says you’re supposed to do when you get broken up with.” He paused, shoulders dropping. “I’ve never been broken up with before.”

Jughead made a noise next to her that sounded suspiciously like a snort that he tried to hide behind a cough.

“I’m sorry,” Betty said. She looked over at Jughead but he shrugged as if to say – _this is your problem, you fix it_.

“I _knew_ it,” Sandy slurred, leaning against Betty to stay upright. “I mean, I didn’t _know_ it, but I knew there was _something_.”

Sandy listed dangerously to one side. With a sigh, Jughead darted forward to grab Sandy by the other arm.

“Thanks Mughead,” said Sandy.

Jughead shot Betty a _look_ but only said, “Anytime. Hey Sandy, I’ve never been on a swim team before – or, well, any sport’s team – but is your coach going to be okay with you drinking like this in the middle of the day?”

“No,” said Sandy. If possible, he sagged even more and Betty and Jughead scrambled to hold onto him. “I never drink, Jugman. This was my first time since I graduated high school.”

His shoulders drooped in an expression of misery while Betty’s stomach twisted with guilt. Like Sandy said, she had never seen him touch alcohol while they dated. He was regimented about his sleeping and eating schedule. He ate only protein and green vegetables and avoided carbohydrates. He went to bed at 9:30pm every night.

She suddenly responsible for him, for pushing him to this.

“Sandy,” she said gently. “I’m really sorry about what happened between us. I never wanted you to get hurt. I thought…”

She thought it was not that serious. She thought it was the same for him. That with swim team and his scholarship and his frat house buddies that she would always come in second or third place. She thought that was what they both wanted.

She now saw that she had been wrong. Sandy had wanted more than that. And what had she done? Dumped him as soon as her ex-boyfriend materialized back in her life.

She should never have allowed it to go on as long as it had. A part of her knew that Sandy held feelings for her that she did not reciprocate. But she had _liked_ it. She had _liked_ being adored by someone like Sandy who was always cheerful and dependable and there for her when she needed him.

“Nah, babe – ” the _babe_ seemed to slip out unbidden and then he shook his head as if catching himself. “I just wanted to say, it’s okay. I’m not mad anymore.”

Somehow, his words made her feel worse. “Thanks Sandy,” she whispered. She did not know what else to say. She looked over at Jughead to gauge how he was feeling about her former boyfriend’s sudden reappearance. But his face gave nothing away.

“Maybe we could even be friends,” Sandy suggested. This time there was a hopeful note to his voice. “I’d like that. Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that a lot. But right now, I want to see you get home and sleep this off. How about I call Adrian?”

The last thing she wanted was to see Sandy’s best friend, but she was grudgingly certain that Adrian was just about the only one who would immediately drop everything to help his friend. 

“I already thought of that!” said Sandy. His voice was loud. He released Jughead and tapped himself on the temple as if to show off his foresight. “Turner is on the way.”

“Great,” Betty muttered as Sandy listed heavily to the side. Jughead hurried to steady him again.

“Since we’re friends now – ”

“Are we?” said Jughead.

“ – you should come to our party! At Kappa Delta Phi house.”

“Oh, a fraternity,” said Jughead, “that is just my scene.”

“Sandy, we’re really busy,” Betty interjected. “And I’m not sure you should be having any parties right now with a killer on the loose. Three people are dead.”

Sandy blinked at her like the three murders was new information to him. But before she could elaborate, the elevator dinged and Adrian stepped out. He surveyed the scene in front of him and then swaggered over, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Miller, I said, ‘go to a bar, have a drink, find a cute brunette.’ I did not say: ‘get drunk and go make puppy dog eyes at Betty Cooper.’”

“It’s all good, man,” said Sandy. “We’re friends now.” He clapped Jughead on the back with enough force that Jughead stumbled a few inches. “See? They’re coming to our party tomorrow night.”

Jughead straightened himself out. He shook his head. “That is… not exactly accurate.”

Betty swept her gaze over to Adrian. “I’m not sure now is the right time for a party,” she said coolly. “There is a killer out there. Three people are dead.”

Adrian shrugged like ‘three dead people’ were at the bottom of his list of priorities. “Come now, Cooper. We can’t live a life of fear. That’s what this guy wants. He wants to terrorize us. Having this party is the best thing we can do to stand up to him.”

Jughead interjected, “I am not sure that handing a serial killer hundreds of drunk university students is the best way to stand up to him.”

Sandy glanced at Adrian. “Maybe he’s right, Turner,” his voice sounded defeated. “We don’t want anybody getting hurt.”

Adrian’s voice was almost gentle when he addressed his best friend. “Miller, nothing is going to happen. This guy isn’t going to go after a frat house packed with members of the swim team. He would be outnumbered.” His eyes were icy when they landed on Betty. “Cooper, he came out here to try and be the better person. Better than I ever could be. The least you could do is come to his party.”

Betty’s protests died in her throat. She hung her head and then nodded in ascent. “I’ll be there.”

Adrian turned to Jughead. He looked him and down. His lips twisted into something that was almost a smile, but looked more like a smirk. “So, you’re the new guy. I would say it’s nice to meet the man that she dumped my best friend for, but we both know I would be lying. Nice hat.”

“Thanks,” said Jughead. He patted the top of his beanie. “It saved my life once.”

Adrian did not seem to have a response to that. He turned back to Sandy. In that same gentle voice, he said, “Alright, Miller. Let’s get you home. Water and toast for the rest of the evening and maybe coach won’t notice you’re lagging behind tomorrow in practice.”

Betty moved out of the way so Adrian could duck under Sandy’s shoulder. They stuttered down the hall, Sandy leaning heavily against his friend. He cricked his neck back to wave at them.

Jughead waited until they were out of earshot. “I can’t wait to go to a party at a frat house,” he said. “It is truly a lifelong dream of mine.”

***

Betty and Jughead arrived promptly at the Sheriff’s Station for 10:00pm. Betty had suggested that Jughead leave his beanie in her dorm room for this particular mission and she was glad he had because Jimmy’s gaze hovered on Jughead a beat too long.

“Who is this?” he said. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone.”

“This is Bert, my editor,” she said quickly. “Don’t worry, he’s bound by the same journalism rules as I am. We protect our sources.”

She could tell Jimmy did not like it but he quieted down when she slipped him an envelope stuffed with several 100 dollar bills.

Jimmy directed them to the media room and loaded the surveillance video from Kyle’s last shift at McRonald’s. He showed them how to fast forward, slow down, and pause the video.

“Good luck,” he said. “Bathroom is down the hall. The night shift is quiet, and people here think that you’re a possible witness who needs to review this footage. But try not to draw attention to yourselves, okay?”

“We’ll keep quiet, Jimmy,” said Betty. “Thanks for this.”

“Back when I was your age, I used to spend my nights at the local bar, not combing through six hours of grainy surveillance footage in the Sherriff’s Office,” he muttered. “Have fun.”

With that, he left them alone. Betty pressed ‘play’ on the tape and then settled in to watch.

Kyle’s shift started in the late afternoon. From the angle of the video, Betty guessed the surveillance camera was situated over the drive-thru window. She could not see Kyle’s face. The most she saw was his hands and upper arms when he handed orders to the vehicles that pulled up in front of him. The angle did give them a good view of the driver’s side of the vehicles that pulled up to the window.

Jughead settled himself down in an office chair with a resigned sigh. “This is going to be a long night.”

***

Hours passed. Betty found an office chair of her own. She rolled it next to Jughead, close enough that their knees rested together and his elbow could nudge hers.

On the tape, night had fallen. They still had a clear view of the driver when they pulled up to the window, but the rest of the passengers in the vehicles were obscured by darkness.

She and Jughead only exchanged a few words as they focused on cataloguing each face. They could not afford to miss someone. Occasionally, when an order was particularly long or complicated, Jughead fast-forwarded to the next customer.

Mostly it was tediously dully work and time slowed to a crawl.

She found her mind drifting the night she had spent with Jughead. They still had not talked about what it meant. She knew he still cared for her, that he probably still loved her. But two years was a long time. He was trying to pull his life back together. She still had at least two more years of university in front of her. Could they truly get back together without it ending painfully? Would Jughead move to be with her? Was he ready to leave his Serpents?

She knew they had to talk. But finding the murderer, stopping him before someone else was hurt – that had to be their priority.

And truthfully, she did not mind putting off their conversation. Right now, investigating a case with Jughead, it was the most normal she had felt in long time. She did not want to ruin it. She did not want to drive him away.

Suddenly, Jughead sat up rigidly in his chair, pulling Betty out of her thoughts. He pointed to the screen and Betty followed his finger. A man pulled up at the drive-thru window. The man had an easy smile, wiry frame, and a thick mass of hair shoved under a baseball cap.

“Didn’t I just have an incredibly unpleasant interaction with that guy?”

Betty was stunned. “You did,” she whispered.

The man on the video was Adrian Turner.

On the surveillance feed, he rolled down his window and smiled as Kyle Johnson handed him a McRonald’s takeout bag. On the video, his lips mouthed, “ _Thanks, man_.” He handed the takeout bag to someone in the passenger seat.

“There’s someone with him,” said Jughead. “Can you see? Who is it?”

“You’re right,” said Betty. She scrambled towards the screen to get a better look but the figure in the passenger seat was obscured in darkness and shadows. “ _Damnit_.”

Jughead paused the video and enlarged it. He tried to sharpen the image, but the best they could determine was that the person in the passenger seat was shorter than Adrian. Probably a woman. She seemed to have dark hair, a petite frame. But that was it. That was as good as they could make out.

Betty rubbed at her arms. The surveillance feed was paused on Adrian’s side profile. His hands were on the wheel in front of him, the baseball cap was pulled down tightly over his forehead.

“This could just be a coincidence,” she said. “He and Sandy swim a lot. And when they’re not in the pool, they’re at practice. They get hungry.” She knew the excuse sounded hollow, but she added, “Why would Adrian have anything to do with this?”

Jughead shrugged. “I have no idea. But you know what I don’t believe in? Coincidences. The question is, who _is_ that? Who is next to him in the car?”

“He has a girlfriend,” Betty whispered. “He kept asking me to meet her, but I thought he was just trying to be polite for Sandy’s sake. That could be her, Jug. I should have paid more attention when he was talking about her… _shit_.”

“That’s okay,” said Jughead. “What do you know about the girlfriend? Think, Betty.”

She shrugged helplessly. “All I know is that she is new in town,” she said. “Adrian said she hadn’t made any friends. I almost thought he was trying to be nice.” She shook her head. “We have to watch the rest of the tape. We have to be sure.”

“I agree,” said Jughead, but he set the tape to fast-forward. The rest of the tape moved quickly. They did not recognize anyone else. Not a single other face.

It was almost 3:00 a.m. when Jimmy came to check on them.

“So,” he asked. “Find anything?”

Betty tried not to let her agitation show on her face. “Nothing yet,” she lied. “But we’ll let you know if we do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left a comment, kudos, or dropped me a note about this fic! I have been LIVING for your reactions and theories and I appreciate all of you so much!! I have about two chapters left that are pre-written (though, uh, not edited) and one more yet-to-be-written wrap up chapter. There is some PLOT coming your way soon. I really hope you all like where this goes. <3 <3 <3


	6. Chapter 6

Once again, it was the early hours of the morning when Jughead and Betty made it back to her dorm room. They nearly collapsed into bed after removing their shoes and socks. Jughead threw an arm over Betty’s waist and nestled his face into the crook of her shoulder. He fell asleep almost immediately.

Betty was exhausted, but sleep would not come. She tried to stay still to avoid waking Jughead. But her mind replayed the scene at the station over and over – Adrian caught at the MacRonald’s drive-thru window, mere days before Kyle was found murdered on her campus.

Adrian, who had never liked her.

Adrian, with the new girlfriend from out of town.

Adrian, who was Sandy’s best friend.

She felt a weight pressing down on her chest. She forced herself to sit up, pushing Jughead’s arm away from her. She wiggled down the end of the bed and then pushed herself to her feet before stumbling over to her desk chair. She sat down heavily and then cradled her head in her hands. Her heart pounded wildly and she rubbed at her temples, reminding herself to breathe – to just keep breathing.

Her mind would not stop whirling. She had thought there might have been a connection to the athletics program, hadn’t she? She had briefly cast doubt on Sandy and the rest of his team and anyone else who was connected to him. But the killer _knew_ her – knew _them_. The killer knew to send that message to Jughead – knew exactly what he would do when he received it.

She pictured what the note said:

_I REMEMBER WHAT YOU DID TO ME_

This was not just someone who was targeting her. This was someone who wanted to get back at her – _and_ Jughead.

She heard Jughead shift and she looked over at him. He threw an arm over his face and his words were muffled. “Betty, I can hear you thinking.”

Her cheeks warmed. She felt bad for waking him. She also felt embarrassed. They had _just_ reconnected. Was he ready to be drawn all the way back into her world? Was he ready to deal with her again when she got… well, like this?

She tried to keep her voice light. “I’m sorry for waking you. I’ll be back to bed soon.”

He removed the arm from over his face and stood up. Even in the dim light of the room, she could see that his hair was adorably tousled, his eyes tired but concerned. “I don’t mind,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

She hesitated. She gestured uselessly in front of her and then folded her hands in her lap. She was even more embarrassed when she felt hot tears pressing against her eyes. She was trying so hard to be strong.

Jughead’s voice came again. “Hey – ” the bedsheets rustled as he tossed them back. Then he padded over and crouched down in front of her. His hands went to her knees before he gently cradled her hands between his own. He looked up at her and his face was drawn and concerned. “Betty, what’s going on?”

“We have to go back to the hardware store.” Her words were hushed but felt loud in the darkness of the room. She spoke rapidly. “I should have considered that she was working with someone.”

“She?” Jughead pressed.

“Jughead, come on. We both know who is really behind this.”

“Betty, we don’t know anything for sure – ”

“This has Donna Sweett’s fingertips written all over it,” she hissed. “The elaborately staged murders? The _note_ she left you in your mailbox? Conveniently hooking up with the one person on campus who hates me – ”

She was dimly aware that her voice rose to a hysterical level.

“Hey,” said Jughead. He squeezed her hands. She half-expected him to chide her for jumping to conclusions, but he only said, “We bested her before, didn’t we? We’ll do it again.”

She wanted to say more, but the words died on her lips. Suddenly all she could think about was how close he was, how _good_ he looked, and how warm his hands were against hers. She leaned in and kissed him. He kissed her back and then pushed himself to his feet.

He looked down at her, eyes dark and concerned like he was about to ask her if she was okay. She pushed herself to her feet and kissed him again before he could say anything. His arms instinctively wrapped around her back, fingers playing at the base of her neck in a way that sent shivers down her spine. 

He groaned against her mouth and then pushed himself up again her. “Now this is a use for insomnia I _can_ support,” he murmured.

She tugged at the bottom of his shirt, suddenly _craving_ the feel of his skin against hers. “Shut up and kiss me again,” she said.

He did.

***

A few hours later, they found themselves back in front of Fix 4 U. Despite her sleepless night, Betty was wired. She felt sharp, focused. She strode into the store and weaved her way through the aisles, Jughead close behind her. Allen was behind the cash register, chin propped up on his hand. He seemed to deflate when he saw Betty.

“Oh,” he said. “You.”

“Me,” said Betty. She pulled a photo of Adrian out of her pocket and slapped it down on the counter in front of her. She had printed the picture from the swim team homepage. In the picture, he was naked from the waist up. He was preening for the camera, his wild hair sticking up in all directions.

“Have you seen him before?” Jughead demanded.

Allan seemed to come alive at the urgency in Jughead’s voice. He leaned forward and studied the picture.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Him I know. That young man has been in here a few times the last month or so. He’s practically a regular by this time.”

“What does he buy?” Betty pressed.

Allan hesitated. Before he could answer, Jughead jumped in, “It’s rope, isn’t it?”

Allan’s nod was slow. “He said he was on the swim team. That they needed it for training.”

“What kind of swim team training requires _rope_?” Jughead said.

Allan shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve never been on a swim team.”

Betty glanced over at Jughead. He looked like he was moments away from jumping over the counter and shaking Allan. She hurriedly interjected.

“Allan,” she said. “We need to call the police, okay? You need to tell them about this. You need to tell them _exactly_ how many times he has come here to buy rope.”

Allan looked at them with wide, scared eyes. “He was such a nice man,” he said.

“I know,” Betty said. “But this is important information, okay? The police have to know.”

She waited for him to nod his head in understanding before she grabbed Jughead by the elbow and dragged him from the store.

Once they were outside, Betty said, “We need to tell them.”

“Who? The police?”

“Yeah,” she said. She started to pace. “We need to tell them everything, Jug. Maybe we should have handed the note over to them right away. I don’t know. I thought if we told the police everything, they would think that we were crazy.”

“Our story is a little crazy.”

She blew out a breath. “Believe me, I know. But how else do we explain Adrian’s motivations?”

“You mean the motivation where we think his new girlfriend happens to be a former classmate of mine who once plotted an elaborate way to kill me so she could win the rights to a lucrative book contract?”

When he put it that way, it did sound unbelievable.

“Maybe Charles could speak to them,” Betty tried. “Explain things.”

Jughead sighed. “Betty, I agree. We should tell the police. We just need to be prepared for the fact that the police will think we’re… well, insane.”

She managed a strained smile and then pulled out her phone to call Jimmy. The phone rang and rang and finally went to voicemail. “Jimmy, it’s Betty. Call me. Now.”

She hung up and then looked at Jughead. He shrugged as if it to say “ _what should we do now?”_ She glanced back at the store and saw Allen on the phone. Hopefully he was on the phone with someone at the Sheriff’s Department.

“We need more evidence,” she said.

She bit her lip and then raised her gaze to his. He suddenly looked concerned. “I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

“It’s still early. The whole swim team will be at practice. We’ve got another hour, maybe two, before they even think about heading home for lunch and a shower.”

Jughead released a breath. “We’re going to a frat house, aren’t we?”

“Yep.”

***

Kappa Delta Phi house was located on a mixed residential street about three blocks from campus. It was jammed in between two other frat houses, but the rest of the street was a mix of student housing and duplexes. The lawn in front of Kappa Delta Phi was overgrown and in need of watering. The front steps lead up to a generous porch dotted with windows and the front door was painted a cheerful yellow.

Betty shot off a quick text to Jimmy: “ _Talk to the owner of Fix 4 U and then run through the MacRonald’s surveillance tape again.”_ Then she and Jughead climbed the steps to the front door of the Kappa Delta Phi house.

Jughead rang the doorbell. Neither of them spoke as the seconds dragged by. By this time of day, everyone should be in the pool or at class. If someone did answer the door, Betty was prepared with an excuse that she wanted to collect a favourite sweater of hers that she had left in Sandy’s room.

A minute passed. Jughead rang the doorbell a second time. Again, there was no answer.

“Bobby pin?” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” said Betty. “This is a fraternity. There must be a spare key around here somewhere.”

She groped along the nearest windowsill and pursed her lips when she came up short. She glanced around the porch. There was a bistro table that looked like it had not been cleaned in five years, and a patio chair covered with a cushion that was browning and full of cobwebs. She went to the chair and lifted the cushion. She coughed as a cloud of dust blew in her face, but she spied a silver key underneath the cushion. She picked it up and placed the cushion back into place.

Jughead looked disappointed. “You know that one of my joys in life is watching you break and enter.”

“Technically, this is still a break and enter,” said Betty, but she could not stop her smile. “Just… gives us plausible deniability if someone comes home early.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, but he moved his body to stand behind her as she placed the key in the lock and turned.

The door open with a loud squeak that had Betty wincing. She hurriedly stepped inside. Jughead followed behind her and closed the door behind them with a thud. Betty placed the key inside the pocket of her pants.

Directly in front of them, a wood staircase lead to the second floor. The hallway wrapped around the stairs and lead to the kitchen. Next to them was an open and bright common room.

“Hello?” Betty called out. “Sandy?”

No answer.

Jughead glanced at her. “Upstairs I take it?”

She nodded. “Let’s be quick. They could be home at any moment.”

She headed up the stairs, Jughead behind her. The stairs creaked and groaned under their footsteps. At the top, they came to a long hallway. In total, there were five bedrooms spread across either side of the hallway.

“Sandy’s bedroom is at the end of the hall, facing the street,” Betty whispered. “Adrian’s across from him.”

Jughead followed her down the hall, past the bathroom. Betty stopped in front of the last bedroom to their left. Pinned to the front of the door was a large poster from the most recent edition of _Sports Illustrated_ swimsuit edition. The woman in the poster was lying suggestively on a beach, her tiny bikini just barely covering her nipples.

She almost jumped at Jughead’s whispered voice behind her. “You should get a poster like that for your dorm room.”

Betty turned her head until she felt his breath on her cheek. “Why?” she said. “Are you volunteering to model for me?”

“I could be convinced.”

His voice was husky and seductive. Her cheeks warmed. “Stop distracting me,” she hissed.

She tried the doorknob. It turned easily under her hand and she glanced back at Jughead.

“These guys really need to work on their security,” he said. He almost sounded disappointed.

Betty pushed the door open and then froze. Jughead made a muffled noise behind her that sounded like a swear.

The room was not empty. On the bed, propped up on her stomach with her laptop in front of her, was a dark-haired woman about Betty’s age. The woman had earbuds in each ear which she yanked out as soon as she saw Betty and Jughead. She scrambled back on the bed in alarm, eyes darting from Betty and Jughead to the open door.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Betty quickly. Her heart pounded with shock and alarm. “I’m Betty Cooper. Sandy’s ex-girlfriend. You must be, er…” she searched for the name of Adrian’s girlfriend. Something that started with an “M.” Monica? Monique?

“Misti,” said the woman. She relaxed slightly, but sounded suspicious when she said, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I had… Sandy, I mean, Sandy had an old sweater of mine…” Betty stuttered. She cleared her throat a few times. “I thought this was his bedroom. Sorry. They all look alike up here.” Then she added, “We rang the doorbell. Nobody answered.”

She did not think Misti would buy that excuse, but the other woman relaxed further. “No worries,” she said. She had a light voice. She bounced up from the bed and then held her hand out to Betty. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. I heard a lot about you from Sandy. I was looking forward to meeting you one of these days. Too bad about… you know.”

“Yeah,” said Betty stiffly, taking Misti’s hand. Misti had jet black hair which was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and yoga pants. Betty gestured next to her. “This is Jughead.”

She almost winced at the word. She was aware of how strange it must look that she brought her new-old boyfriend to her ex-boyfriend’s house to reclaim an old sweater.

Misti did not seem bothered. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “You go and get what you need from Sandy’s room and I’ll make a pot of tea. We can catch up properly. I’ll meet you downstairs?”

Betty forced a smile. “Sounds great.”

She felt Misti’s stare on her back as she turned and left Adrian’s room. She crossed the hall and then opened the door to Sandy’s room. She waited for Jughead to enter in front of her before she closed the door and then leaned back against it, breathing heavily.

“Well,” said Jughead. He stood awkwardly in front of her. “Here we are. In your college boyfriend’s room.”

He sounded unenthused about this reality. Betty looked around. Where Adrian’s room had been fastidiously neat and tidy, Sandy’s room was cluttered. There were swim trophies sitting on top of every free surface. The trophies did not seem to be organized in any specific order. Rather, it looked like Sandy had simply placed them down in the first place that came to mind upon coming home and then forgot about them. There was a pile of laundry at the foot of the bed that Betty was not sure was clean or dirty. The bed was unmade. There were books and loose-leaf papers scattered across the desk.

Betty blew out a breath and then looked at Jughead. “Adrian really does have a girlfriend named Misti. I was so sure that Donna was involved in this. Jug, what if we were wrong about him? Wrong about everything?”

“Then we can write all of this off as a coincidence and go back to the drawing board.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences.”

He managed a strained smile. “I don’t,” he said. “So there is something else going on. Something that we are missing.”

Betty nodded. From the hallway, she heard Adrian’s door creaking open and then footsteps disappearing down the hall and down the stairs.

“She’s out of his room,” she said. “Go. See what you can find. I’ll stall with Misti as long as I can.”

She moved out of the way of the door. Jughead touched her shoulder briefly as he passed her, his eyes warm and sympathetic as if silently reassuring her that they would get to the bottom of whatever was happening.

Betty glanced around Sandy’s room. Somehow she needed to come up with something that belonged to her in the mess he had left strewn about. She went over to the laundry pile and dug through it until she found a sweater that looked small enough that it could conceivably belong to her. She bunched it up in her arms and hoped that Misti would not ask too many questions.

Then she left the room and went downstairs to meet Misti in the kitchen.

The kitchen was spacious, but about twenty years out of date. There were checkered patterns on the flooring. The wooden counters were scarred and scabbed from overuse. There was a beat up table pushed off to the side, near to the back door, and it was covered in discarded beer cans and liquor bottles.

The other woman smiled at Betty. “Looks like you found the sweater,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Betty. “It was a favourite of mine. Thanks for letting me do this, Misti. Breakups can be… awkward.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Misti. She fussed over the kettle and then pulled some tea mugs out of the cupboards. She looked around the kitchen apologetically. “Sorry for the mess.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Betty. “This is a frat house.”

The kettle began to hiss and Misti poured the water into a waiting teapot. She made a face as she poured. “Tell me about it,” she said. “Adrian has been so good to me, letting me stay here while I look for a place of my own. That day can’t come fast enough.”

Misti brought the teapot to the table and Betty picked up the tea mugs and followed her.

“Jughead will be down in a minute,” she said. “He just needed to use the bathroom.”

Misti nodded as she struggled to clear a place at the table. She pushed the empty beer cans and liquor bottles off to one side and then pulled out a chair. “Have a seat,” she said. “I think this is about as good as it is going to get.”

Betty took the proffered seat. Misti poured them each a mug of tea and then sat down next to her.

“Adrian told me you’re new in town,” said Betty. “What brought you out here?”

“Oh, you know,” said Misti. “Things weren’t exactly working out for me back home. I thought I would try a change of scenery.”

Betty picked up her mug of tea. She blew steam off the top and then took a sip. She winced. The tea was bitter and puckered her tongue and inside of her mouth.

Misti saw her wince. “I’m sorry. I should have offered you sugar.” Then she paused. “Although I’m not sure I know where those boys keep sugar in this godforsaken place.”

“I’m fine,” said Betty. To prove it, she took another sip of tea and managed not to wince as she swallowed. But the bitterness of the tea settled heavily in her stomach. Her insides shifted unpleasantly and she set the mug of tea back on the table. “Where did you say you came from?”

“I didn’t,” said Misti at least that’s what Betty _thought_ she said. But her voice suddenly sounded far away.

Betty blinked and leaned forward. Her head felt heavy and she blinked a few times, trying to focus on Misti. “Sorry,” said Betty. “Can you repeat that?”

Her words sounded long and slurred. From above, she heard a crashing noise and then a shout. Fear prickled at the back of her neck.

“Jug,” she whispered. She tried to push herself to her feet but her legs would not cooperate. She was heavy, weighted down, like her limbs had been replaced with rocks and stones. “What’s happening to me?”

Misti leaned in towards her. “Shh,” she said. “Don’t try and fight it. You’ll only make it worse. Just let it pull you under. Like a warm ocean wave.”

_You’re not making sense_ , Betty tried to say, but her lips didn’t move. What was happening to her? She just needed to _think_. She needed to focus – _Jug, where was Jughead_ – but her eyes were heavy and her body could no longer hold her upright.

She felt herself being pulled under – _just like the pull of an ocean wave_. Misti had been right. Her vision blackened and her eyelids fluttered shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O Things are heating up, all!!! Who is Misti really? What happened to Jughead? All these answers and more to come in the next chapter! Which is a doozy. (Btw, if you, like me, are wondering: 'Has Jughead been wearing the same clothes for three days now? Has he changed? What happened to that ShareBnB?' pls assume that he and Betty found time in their busy schedule to circle back to Jughead's ShareBnB so he could put on a clean shirt.)


	7. Chapter 7

Betty’s head felt like it was splitting in two. She heard a moaning noise, and it was a second before she realized the sound had come from her. Her mouth was dry and parched like she had swallowed a cotton ball. Her stomach clenched and then jumped, bile licking at the back of her throat.

She moaned again, and then a voice pierced through the pain in her head, “Ah, sleeping beauty is finally ready to join us. Wake up, princess.”

The voice was feminine but menacing – and all too familiar. She had just enough time to think – _I was right, it was her –_ before her eyes snapped open and Donna Sweett materialized into view. She stood in front of Betty, hands on her hips, smug smile tugging at her mouth.

“No,” Betty whispered. Her lips were dry and chapped, her throat hoarse. She looked down at herself. Her wrists and ankles were tied to a chair. She flexed her fingers and felt rope pulling and tugging at her wrists.

Then she heard Jughead’s voice from somewhere behind her. “Betty, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

“Jug,” she called, relief sweeping through her. She cricked her neck to try and find him. Her eyes skimmed over a sparsely decorated room. The floors and walls were hard and grey. There were no windows. There were dusty wall shelves in the corner but no other furniture. Dim lighting filtered down from the ceiling. In front of her, there was a rickety staircase that led out of sight.

She called out again with rising panic. “I can’t see you. Where are you?”

“I’m right behind you,” he said. He kept his tone light, calm. “I'm okay. We’re both okay.”

Donna snorted loudly, drawing Betty’s attention. “For now,” she said. Then she inclined her head and Betty followed it to the woman standing next to her. “I’ve like to introduce you to someone. This is my sister, Misti Sweett.”

Betty swallowed. “We’ve met,” she said hoarsely. She tugged against the ropes binding her hands. Then she looked up at Donna. “Where are we?”

“Oh, we’re still at Kappa Delta Phi house,” she said. “You know what I love about this place? You know, other than the fact that it houses five self-obsessed college aged boys who only care about who is in their bed at night? The _basement_. Recently renovated with poured concrete.” Donna leaned in closer to Betty until she could see the whites of the other woman’s eyes. “Scream as much as you want, Betty. No one is going to hear you.”

Betty stared back at Donna. She tried not to let the fear show on her face. “It _was_ you,” she said. “Those murders.”

Donna scoffed. “Betty, come on. You know me better than that. I would never get my hands dirty with murder _._ ” She placed a hand over her chest in an exaggerated display of innocence. “ _Adrian Turner_ murdered those people.”

“Right, how silly of me. You had someone else do your dirty work,” said Betty. She looked over at Misti. “How did you convince him to do it?”

Misti shrugged and then suddenly she burrowed herself into her baggy sweater. Her bottom lip protruded and her eyes widened with unshed tears. In a shaking voice, she said, “ _Please, please help me. I have to kill these people. She’s coming after me and my sister. She’ll kill me, Adrian. I’m so sorry, Adrian. I’m sorry. I never should have involved you.”_

Suddenly, Misti straightened. The protruding lip disappeared and her lips twisted into a smile. “All men have a save-the-damsel-in-distress fantasy,” she spat.

“I resent that,” grumbled Jughead from somewhere behind Betty.

“Oh, we’ll get to you in a minute, Jones,” said Donna. To Betty, she said, “It did help that he had all these… anger issues. We just had to find a way to channel him.” She surveyed Betty. “Turns out, he hates you. It really didn’t take much to convince him that you would happily slit both our throats in the middle of the night. How do you bring that out in so many people, Betty?”

“It’s a gift,” said Betty. “I guess I have a thing about murderous psychos. I don’t much care for them.”

Donna and Misti glanced at each other. Misti shrugged. “I suppose Adrian could be called a touch psychotic.”

“He _strangled_ people to death,” said Betty.

“That was his idea,” Misti acknowledged. “I thought it was nice that he was so committed to what we were doing.”

Jughead spoke up. “You sent me that note,” he said. “You lured me here. Why?”

Donna scoffed and then she linked arms with her sister. “You two, you ruined my life. After Stonewell Prep, nobody else would take me. I was considered a potential murderer and, worse, a fraud. Now imagine how I felt when I found out that after that, after everything you did, you weren’t even together anymore?”

Betty blinked. She could not contain the disbelief in her voice. “Wait a second,” she said, “are you saying that you did everything you did… to get me and Jughead back _together_?”

Donna shrugged. “I knew Jughead would immediately swoop in to rescue you. And that’s exactly what you did, isn’t it, Jones? Tell me again that not all men have a save-the-damsel fantasy. You certainly acted it out on your end better than I could ever have imagined. From there, I knew it was only a matter of time.” She released Misti and then bent down in front of Betty. “I remember that sex tape, Betty. I knew you could only survive for so long without him.”

“You _murdered_ people,” Jughead shouted from behind Betty. “You murdered people out of some kind of sick, twisted _game_?”

Donna looked over Betty’s shoulder and towards the sound of Jughead’s voice. “You don’t get it, Jones. A little bit of murder just doesn’t bother me. Besides, I was entirely successful, wasn’t I? You two are hopelessly in love with each other again.” She smirked. “Which is exactly what I need.”

Betty turned her head until she could find Misti. “And what about you?” she demanded. “Does ‘ _a little bit of murder’_ bother you?”

Misti folded her arms over her chest and shrugged delicately. “I’m a Sweett,” she said. “Family comes first. And my sister needed me.”

“What?” Betty said sarcastically, turning her gaze back to Donna. “You couldn’t seduce Adrian on your own? You had to pull in your sister to do it for you?”

Donna stared back at her with a thoughtful expression. “Adrian disgusts me,” she only said. She glanced at Misti. “Plus, look at her. So dainty. Cute as button. Wouldn’t you kill for her?”

“No,” Betty spat. “Because I’m not a _sociopath_.”

“Oh, Betty, I missed our banter,” said Donna. “I want you to know, no matter how this ends, you brought so much meaning to my life. The last few years all I could think about was how I would get back at you. I imagined the look on your face when you saw me again hundreds of times. I can only hope that one day you have a chance to look back on this and feel the same way about me.”

“I think you’re a monster.”

“Now, now,” said Donna. She took a step back. “Would a monster give you and Jones a chance to get out of this alive? I just need a little something from you. And then you can both go free.”

Betty swallowed heavily. “Whatever you want, we won’t do it.”

“Oh, I think you will,” said Donna. “See, Betty, there’s something that me and my family want more than anything else on this earth.” She glanced over at Misti who smiled supportively. “We want Tracy True back.”

Jughead could not muffle his snort. “High school and Stonewall Prep is _over_ ,” he said. “Can’t you just move on?”

“I won’t move on,” said Donna. “Not until we have her back. And your girlfriend, Jones. She was the one who kept Tracy from us. From me.” She zeroed back in on Betty. “So here is what I want, Betty. I want a videotaped confession. You take full responsibility for Jughead’s almost murder at Stonewall. You say you set the rest of us up to take the fall. And then you confess to these recent killings on your campus. Isn’t it interesting how they all looked _exactly_ like you? And the boyfriend you tried to murder back in high school? That almost sounds like something… a serial killer would do. Tell me, that police officer you’re so chummy with these days, does he know that you’re the daughter of the Black Hood?”

Betty felt the colour draining from her face. “You get Tracy True back and I go down for all of your murders,” she said. “Good plan. Except – oh, yeah – why exactly am I going to confess to all of that?”

Donna folded her arms over her chest. “Betty, come on,” she said. She rolled her eyes. “You know why you’re going to confess. Because we’ll let Jughead go.”

Betty’s heart was pounding. “No, you won’t,” she said. “That’s a loose end and you don’t do loose ends. You know that he wouldn’t rest until he exposed you.”

Donna shrugged and made an expression like she was bored. “I guess that’s a risk. That’s really between you and him, though, isn’t it?” She sighed and in a pained voice, continued, “I’ll tell you what, though. If you don’t do what we ask, we’ll torture him. Right here with you next to him. And you’ll break, Betty. You might have given yourself and him and everyone else a big show about moving on these last few years, but I know _exactly_ how far you’ll go for him. You wouldn’t let him suffer. Not if you could do something about it.”

“She won’t do it,” Jughead gritted out from behind her. “The police are not stupid. They’ll put this together. You’ll never get away with it.”

“Listen,” said Donna, “I’m happy to give you two some time to think about it and decide what you want to do. I’ve waited the last few years. I can be patient. But maybe it would help to have a preview of what’s to come? Misti, if you’ll demonstrate.”

Betty barely saw her move. She caught a flash of silver – a _knife_ – before Misti stepped around her. Then the sound of Jughead screaming filled the room.

Betty thrashed against the bonds tying her to the chair. “STOP IT,” she shrieked. “Donna, _stop it_!”

In a ragged voice, Jughead said, “I’m okay. It’s just my leg.” Then in a pained voice, he said, “ _Shit_ that hurts.”

Betty raised her gaze to Donna. The other woman looked amused. “It’s tragic you can’t see him,” she said. “I’ll describe it for you. My sister jabbed a knife into his thigh. Hopefully she didn’t nick any important veins on the way in there. Here’s another question for you, Betty, now that the knife is in there, should she pull it out?”

“No,” she breathed. “Leave it in – ”

She heard Jughead groaning in pain behind her again. Her next breath was painful.

Donna made an exaggerated sighing noise. “Too late,” she said. “Wow, that wound is bleeding _everywhere_.”

Jughead panted and hissed out ragged breaths behind her.

“ _Please_ , Donna,” Betty cried. Her throat was raw. “Hurt me. I’m the one you want. I’m the one who did this to you, remember? I took Tracy True from you. Wouldn’t you rather hurt me?”

“No,” Jughead shouted. “Donna, I swear to god, if you touch her, I will _kill_ you.”

“Oh my god,” said Donna with a roll of her eyes. “The _dramatics_. It really did not take you two long, did it?” She snapped her fingers. “Misti, patch him up. We can’t him bleeding out and dying. Then we would have no leverage.” She turned back to Betty. “Listen, Betty, as sweet as it is that you’re willing to take Jughead’s place in all of this, I can’t have you looking bloodied on your confession tape, can I? Then it would look… what is the word? Coerced.”

Behind her, Betty heard the noise of what sounded like the crinkling of paper and then gauze tape followed by Jughead moaning and groaning.

Her eyes ticked to Donna’s face. When she spoke, she felt like her voice was not her own, “I’ll do it,” she said. “And in return, you let Jughead go.”

Donna expelled an annoyed breath. “Wow,” she said. “Already? I had so much more torture planned.”

“If you touch him again then this offer is off the table,” Betty hissed.

“Betty, don’t you dare,” said Jughead from behind her. “You were right earlier. I won’t stay quiet with this. They can’t let me go.”

“They will,” said Betty. She held Donna’s gaze. “I’m not doing that videotape until I know he’s safe.”

“Betty, you’re not really in a position to negotiate here.”

“Yeah, except the thing is, you have gone to a lot of trouble to orchestrate the reunion that we’re having now. You must be desperate for that videotape. And desperate for me to maintain my story. As long as Jughead is safe, you know you’ll have leverage over me. So you let him go, and then I’ll admit whatever you want me to admit.”

Donna looked thoughtful. “Then convince him to stay quiet,” she hissed. To Misti she said, “Sis, you almost done patching him up?”

“All set,” said Misti’s voice. “Should I move her?”

“Do it,” said Donna.

Betty’s chair tipped back and the legs scraped along the floor as Misti dragged her backwards until Betty’s chair was lined up with Jughead’s. Misti set the chair back into place with a jerk.

Betty immediately cricked her neck around to study him. Like her, Jughead’s arms and legs were bound and tied to a chair. He had a tourniquet wrapped around his thigh. His pants were torn and bloodied around the tourniquet, but the bandage seemed to have stopped the bleeding. She saw a purple bruise over his forehead and cheek like someone had hit him across the face. She vaguely remembered the scuffling noise she heard while in the kitchen with Misti and wondered if that had been the sound of Donna attacking him.

Jughead studied her as she studied him. He raised his worried eyes to hers, his gaze apologetic.

Her voice came out in a rush. “Jug, are you okay? What happened to you?”

“Chloroform,” came Donna’s smug voice. “I wasn’t quite sure how much to use to take him down. Good thing he woke up again. We’ll just have to wait and see if there is any brain damage.”

Jughead’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but he ignored Donna. “I’ll live,” he only said. He tried to mask his wince, but she could tell that he was in pain. The tourniquet that Misti wrapped around his leg would probably keep him from bleeding out, but he needed a real doctor for that knife wound.

Betty struggled against the ropes, but she only succeeded in making her wrists raw with pain.

Donna’s laugh tinkled through the room. “What makes you think you can escape, Betty? Christie, Madison, and Kyle couldn’t get away. Now, come on. You have a mission here. I gave you and Jughead a way out of this. Take it.”

“We are definitely _not_ taking your way out,” Jughead snarled. To Betty, he said, “You are not going to prison for this. Forget it.”

Betty tried to ignore Donna and Misti watching her expectantly. Instead she focused on Jughead. “They’ll let you go,” she whispered. “Please, Jug. Please let me do this for you.”

He stared at her with an expression that was dark and unreadable. Finally, he said, “Is this your way of trying to make up for what happened in high school?”

“Ooh,” said Donna’s voice. “What happened in high school?”

Betty ignored her. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Because if this is your way of punishing yourself for what happened – ”

“ –I am _not_ pushing myself –”

“ –I can assure you that _this_ is not even on the same level as kissing Archie!”

“You kissed _Archie_?” came Donna’s delighted voice. “But that was all part of your ruse to throw us off the scent… unless, no…. Betty, did _pretending_ to date Archie give you _real_ feelings for Archie?” She made a tsking noise. “That is cold, Jones. No wonder you dumped her.”

Jughead flushed. “It wasn’t like that.”

“I was confused,” said Betty. “And, anyway – I don’t have to explain myself to you, Donna. This is between me and Jughead. Do you want me to convince him or not?”

Donna huffed out a sigh. “Fine,” she said. “Please, do go on. Pretend that we’re not even here.”

Betty expelled a breath. “Jug, listen to me. This is not about high school, okay? I know I’ll never be done apologizing for what happened, but… do you think I can sit here and watch them hurt you?”

“Forget it,” said Jughead hotly, “because you are _not_ going to do that videotape!”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I won’t sit by and do nothing if I could save you. I love you, Jughead. Let me do this.”

He seemed taken aback. For a moment, he did not answer. His jaw worked and then he glanced over at Donna and Misti with furious eyes.

She understood why. It felt like they were intruding on an important and intimate moment. A moment that they had created and pushed them into, but it still felt _wrong_.

Finally, Jughead turned back to her. When he spoke, his voice was soft, “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you say that.”

“What?” said Betty. “That I love you?” she choked back on a sob. “Because I do. I never stopped. God, I tried moving on. I told myself that we were over. I tried so hard to throw myself into school and the _Daily_ and Sandy, but none of it felt right. Not without you.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jughead. “If I hadn’t been so bullheaded back then – ”

“That is _not_ your fault,” she whispered. “Archie and I hurt you. We hurt you and Veronica so deeply. You had every right to be mad at us.” She paused. “I am so sorry for what happened, Jug. I wish I could take it back.”

His chest rose and fell with painful breaths. Finally, in a soft voice, he said, “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

“Really?” she said.

His lips twitched into a sad smile. “You are it for me.” He shrugged as if in resignation. “You don’t think I tried to move on? Every night when I went to bed, I promised myself that I would stop thinking about you. But every day I woke up, and I still loved you.”

This time it was Misti’s voice that interrupted them. “ _Wow_ ,” she breathed. “That was…”

“Beautiful,” said Donna. “You know, you two should be thanking me for bringing you back together again. Just think, if I hadn’t come into your lives, you would both still be without each other and miserable.” She paused. “Oh right, I brought you together again just to separate you. Permanently. Oops.”

Betty focused on Jughead. He was looking at her with wide, probing eyes.

“I can’t let you do that videotape,” he said softly. “You know I can’t.”

“Jug,” she pleaded. She poured as much sincerity into her words as she could. “You would do the same for me. Please.”

She saw him hesitate and she felt a flare of hope. He could be as stubborn as anyone she had ever met, but maybe she had finally got through to him. _Convinced_ him.

But then he expelled a breath and said. “No. Absolutely not.” Then, in a louder voice, he said, “You know why? Because we are getting out of here.”

Donna’s voice was hard. “That’s impossible.”

“Is it?” said Jughead. “The thing is, you also had it all figured out the last time you tried to kill me, and we still bested you in the end, didn’t we? Maybe I like hopeless odds but I think that we are going to do it again. Betty, here is my question. What do we know?”

She did not answer straight away. Where was he going with this? Did he have a plan? Or was he simply trying to get under their skin?

Whichever it was, she decided to play along. “We know we’re still at the frat house. In the basement.”

“There seems to be only one way out and in,” said Jughead. “Up those stairs and to the main floor.”

“We know that there is going to be a party here soon and the house will be teaming with people,” said Betty. She glanced over at Donna and Misti. “You probably can’t kill us in front of hundreds of witnesses. And if you went up those stairs covered in Jughead’s blood, someone is going to notice.”

“And people will be expecting you at that party,” Jughead continued. “So you’ll have to leave us alone down here.”

“Probably for hours,” said Betty.

“We’ll be tied up, sure,” said Jughead, “just like Christie. Just like Madison and Kyle. But Betty and I aren’t like your other victims. We have survived much worse than this.”

Donna emitted an aggrieved sigh. “Those knots are tied and tested. Neither of you are getting out of here, and this door is going to be locked. Is your timing ideal? No. The plan was always to slip you a little something at the party and wait for the rest of our guests to leave. Truthfully, though? I like that you’ll have this time together. You’ll be gagged of course. Unable to talk or speak to each other. All you’ll have to think about is just how much we are going to hurt you when we come back.”

As Donna finished, they heard the unmistaken sound of a doorbell reverberating through the house and down to the basement. Betty and Jughead looked at each other.

Immediately, Jughead tipped his head back and started shouting: “HELP. HELP US PLEASE. PLEASE HELP.”

A moment later, Betty joined him. “HELP US!” she screamed. “WE’RE IN THE BASEMENT. PLEASE.”

Donna swore. “Misti, get the gags.”

Betty kept yelling as loudly as she could. A few seconds later, a cloth or towel wrapped sharply around her mouth, choking out her cries. She muffled a yell against the gag, but then her head was violently dragged back as the gag tied tightly around the back of her head.

“Oh Betty,” Donna breathed in her ear, “we tried to play nice. Not that I’m terribly disappointed, mind you. I was so looking forward to watching your face as we tortured him. Now I have that to look forward to.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Betty could see that Misti had shoved a cloth into Jughead’s mouth and was tying it around his head. He was struggling against the chair, voice coming out in muffled grunts and gasps. Finally, he seemed to accept that he was not getting anywhere and he stilled in defeat.

Donna released Betty and then she and Misti floated over the staircase.

“Enjoy your time together, kids,” she called behind her. “It will be the last night you two have for a long time. We’ll see you again soon.”

She and Misti disappeared up the stairs.

A moment later, she heard loud, thumping music playing from upstairs.

Betty’s gag pulled tightly against her mouth, pressing against her teeth and lower jaw. She glanced over at Jughead who looked as disheartened as she felt.

The music increased in sound and intensity. All she could hear from the basement was “ _thunk, thunk, thunk.”_

Betty struggled against the ropes tying her to the chair. She forced herself to ignore the slicing pain in her wrists as they rubbed back and forth against the ropes.

She was the daughter of the Black Hood. She did not give up. She did not accept defeat.

She would find a way out of this. She would.

***

Time passed. The doorbell rang and rang. The music got louder. Footsteps pattered overhead. Occasionally, she heard a bark of laughter or a giggle when someone passed close to the basement door. Betty tried harder to free herself when that happened.

No one opened the door, no one came down to rescue them.

Betty struggled against the ropes binding her to the chair until her wrists began to bleed and her skin was in agony. Then she pulled at her bonds again. Nothing worked.

Jughead tried to wiggle and move his chair, but he only succeeded in turning the chair about one inch around and he gave up, panting and sweating. The tourniquet around his leg was beginning to seep with blood. Even in the poor lighting of the basement, she could see him turning paler, his blue eyes standing out against his white face. She knew he needed medical attention. She worried about him catching an infection or bleeding out. She tried to hide the worry from her face. But she knew that if Donna came back down those stairs, she would beg to do that tape, do _anything_ , if it meant that she could help Jughead.

The basement was disorienting. The overhead florescent lighting was soft and encased most of the basement in dark shadows. With no window, no clock, she had no idea what time it was or how much time had passed since Donna and Misti left them.

She heard Jughead’s stomach growl and realized that she, too, was feeling hungry and lightheaded. Her mouth was dry and her lips chapped from the gag.

Without anything to do, and exhausted from fighting against her bonds, Betty felt her chin dipping forward and her eyes fluttering shut. She told herself to stay awake – _they just had to come up with a plan_ – but her eyes were heavy. What harm could a small nap do?

She jolted awake when the door to the basement opened and light suddenly spilled down the staircase. A cacophony of music and voices carried down the stairs.

Betty was almost too stunned to react. After their fruitless efforts to escape, she had given up hope that anyone would find them.

She tried to scream, but her voice was muffled by the gag in her mouth. The only noise that came out was a groan and grunts.

Jughead shook himself as if to make himself focus. He seemed just as stunned as Betty, but then he was pulling and straining at the ropes binding him to his chair and emitting grunting noises of his own.

The door upstairs closed and Betty’s heart sunk. Then she heard footsteps and the stairs creaking as someone walked down towards them. Then a male voice said, “I’m pleased that you could both make it.”

Her hope drained away. _Adrian._ He hopped off the bottom step and then turned to survey them, a wild grin on his face. He held a drink in his hand and he swaggered over to him, his footsteps uncoordinated and unsteady. “For weeks I’ve been trying to get you to come _hang out_ , meet my girlfriend – and what happens? You sneak in on your own.”

Betty glared at him as he approached. He swaggered over to her and then leaned forward before pausing. “Now, Cooper, if I remove this gag, do you promise me that you’ll stay quiet? I just want to have a little chat, that’s all. I would hate for things to turn… ugly.”

Betty silently debated with herself. With her hands and feet bound to the chair, Adrian would easily overpower her if she tried screaming. On the other hand, if the gag was removed, she would at least have a chance… if a chance presented itself to her.

She held his eyes and then gave slow nod. Adrian smirked and then reached out to lower the cloth shoved into her mouth. She almost heaved at the feel of his fingertips sliding against her face and corner of her mouth.

As soon as the gag was out of the way, she spat, “Came here to gloat, have you?”

Adrian shook his head. “You always thought you were so clever,” he said. “I saw the way you were with Miller. Treating him like he was a dumb dog who would follow around after you. But you weren’t clever enough to see _this¸_ were you?”

Betty yanked at her bonds. She was suddenly _shaking_ with anger. “You knew they were after me,” she whispered furiously. “That whole time. You tried to _lure_ me to them. You’re sick, Adrian.”

“Come on, Cooper, I have my reasons.” Adrian swivelled his neck around to glance at Jughead. His lips turned up into a scowl like he had swallowed something distasteful. Then he turned back to Betty. “They told me you would drop Miller the second _he_ came back into the picture, but even I was surprised at just how quickly you ditched him. What was it, Cooper, two days?”

Betty did not answer. Adrian leaned in closer to her. His breath smelled like booze and smoke.

“I tried to warn Miller off you, Cooper,” he continued. “From day one, I saw who you were. I knew you were just using him.” His breath puffed against her face and she swallowed back on a gag. “And there is _so much_ out there about you.” His lips twisted into a smile. “That’s right, Cooper. I know who you are. The daughter of the Black Hood.”

“So what if my father was the Black Hood?” she said. “You’re the monster here. You’re the one who strangled three people to death in cold blood.”

“I was fascinated by him,” he whispered. His tone was suddenly conversational. “What was it like growing up with a man like that? Tell me something, when you were a child, did he show you how to hurt things?”

Betty’s heart pounded rapidly. She was very aware that she and Jughead were trapped, helpless, in a room with a man who had no qualms about killing people. Yes, Donna and Misti wanted them alive – for now – but she had no idea how much control they had over Adrian. He was drunk, and he had an axe to grind with her over Sandy.

“What kind of things?” she whispered. Her voice sounded thin. She pushed aside her fear and tried again. “There was… I had a cat. Caramel. My father…”

An eager gleam came into Adrian’s eyes. “What?” he pushed. “What did your father make you do?”

“I killed Caramel,” Betty said. “But it wasn’t like you’re thinking. Caramel was hurt. I had to do it. It was… I was being kind.”

Adrian regarded her for a few moments and then shook his head. “For a moment, I thought you would understand me,” he said. “Your father would, if he was still here. He understood that sometimes killing is necessary for the greater good.”

“The greater good?” Betty demanded. “Is that what you told yourself before you killed them? They had _names_. Christie and Madison and Kyle – ”

In a flash, Adrian closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around her neck. She heard Jughead trying to call out, his voice muffled by the gag that was still in his mouth. Adrian’s fingers thumb pressed into her neck and she struggled to gasp in air, spots beginning to dance in front of her eyes.

Betty’s hands flexed against her bonds, but the hand around her throat did not loosen. Instead his fingers grasped her more tightly until her stomach clenched and she felt dizzy and lightheaded. She tried to speak – tried to tell him she was sorry, she did not mean it – but only gibberish croaked out of her mouth.

Then, as if from far away, light from above flooded down and a familiar male voice called out, “Turner? You down there, man?”

Adrian unclasped his hand from Betty’s throat and she choked in a desperate breath, stomach heaving as she gasped for air. Her neck and throat throbbed from where Adrian’s fingers pressed against her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jughead fighting against his bonds. His eyes were wide and desperate.

Betty blinked rapidly and sucked in another few desperate gasps of air. “I’m fine, I’m okay,” she croaked to reassure him. But he only shook his head and kept fighting with the bonds tying him to the chair.

Adrian stumbled away and pressed a finger to his lips. Then he called out, “Yeah, man. Yeah, everything is all good down here. Just looking for that spare keg we keep down here. Go back to the party. I’ll be there in a minute.”

The steps creaked as if the man on the stairs was debating where to go. “I thought I heard someone down there.” There was a pause. “Have you got a girl down there, Turner? Because I just saw your girlfriend up here a moment ago.”

“Sandy,” Betty croaked. Her voice was no more than a whisper. She cleared her throat and then opened her mouth to call as loudly as she could. “Sandy, SANDY! It’s me – I need help – please – help me!”

Adrian reared back. “ _Shut up, shut up_ ,” he hissed. “What did I say? You keep silent unless you want to end up like the others.”

But it was too late. Sandy charged down the stairs. Betty saw the moment his face registered the scene in front of him. He came to a sudden stop at the bottom of the staircase, his eyes jumping from Betty, bound and tied to a chair, to Jughead, also tied to a chair, gag stuffed into his mouth, and his leg seeping blood into the makeshift tourniquet that Misti tied around his leg.

“What the hell?” he breathed.

Adrian held up his hands. “Hey man – ” he said, “I know how this must look – ”

“He’s the one who has been killing those people on campus,” Betty cut in. “He’s holding us down here – Sandy, help us. Please.”

Sandy’s mouth fell open a few inches. He looked Betty up and down and then shook his head rapidly as if he could not believe what he was seeing. Then he stumbled over to her. He crouched down in front of her. He tugged at the ropes biding her legs to the chair.

“Are you okay?” he said. His voice was strangled. “What happened? What are you doing here?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Adrian and said, “Turner, find some scissors or a knife or – or _something_.”

Adrian had gone still. “I’m sorry, man,” he said softly. “I can’t do that.”

Sandy stopped tugging at the ropes. He raised his gaze to Betty’s. She could tell the exact moment that the reality of the situation sunk in for him. His face pinched together, and his eyes darkened. He put one hand on Betty’s knee and bowed his head as if summoning his strength. Then he stood up and turned around, keeping his body protectively between her and Adrian.

“Turner,” he said softly. He sounded broken. “Is it true?”

Adrian hesitated before answering. His earlier drunkenness seemed to have faded because his words were steady. “Go back upstairs, Miller. Go back to the party. Forget this ever happened. That’s all you have to do.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sandy. Betty had never heard him sound so serious. “You know I can’t do that.”

“She broke your heart!” Adrian exploded. “Why are you still protecting her?”

“Are you kidding me?” said Sandy. “Are you still so far gone that you can’t tell the difference between what’s right and wrong anymore?” He paused, and then in a harsher voice, he said, “How many people have you killed, Turner? _How many_?”

“Miller, you don’t understand what was going on. I had my reasons – ”

“There are no reasons for _murder_!” said Sandy. He dug in his pocket and then pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“I can’t let you do that, man.”

Sandy’s hand was visibly shaking. He looked down at his phone as he started dialling. His momentary distraction was enough for Adrian. He flung himself towards Sandy, hitting him squarely in the chest. Sandy teetered on his feet, but did not fall over, and Adrian smacked the cell phone out of his hand. The phone went flying before landing with a sickening crunch on the cement floor. Sandy tried to push Adrian away from Betty, but Betty could tell that he was holding back.

The problem was, Adrian had no such compunction about hurting Sandy.

“Sandy, get out of here,” Betty found herself saying. “Run! Get help!”

It was too late. With a sickening crunch, Adrian’s fist found its way to Sandy’s face. Sandy’s head snapped back and then Adrian pushed him in the middle of his chest. Betty watched in horror as Sandy lost his footing and then fell to the ground, his head smacking against the ground with the sound of flesh meeting concrete. Blood began pooling out from under his head.

Betty could barely breathe. Her gaze was fastened on Sandy’s prone form on the ground. He was not moving. Her eyes jumped to his chest. Was he breathing? She needed him to be breathing.

“Adrian, check his pulse!” she yelled.

But Adrian stepped between her and Sandy’s prone form. His chest was heaving. His knuckles were smeared with blood. “You _bitch_ ,” he hissed. “You did this! This is your fault!”

He moved towards her. Betty instinctively shrank back in the chair, but there was nowhere to go. There was nothing she could do. She could not defend herself. Adrian’s face twisted with rage, his eyes narrowed into slits. His breath was putrid as his closed his hands around her throat again, his fingers pressing painfully into her windpipe.

She tried to call out – tried to yell Jughead’s name – if this was it, if she was going to die, shouldn’t she have the strength for last words? To tell him she loved him one last time? But she could not _breathe_. She was dimly aware that Adrian was still swearing at her in rapid succession – _bitch and you did this_ – and then there was a loud “crash” like the sound of a picture falling from a wall and landing on a hard floor.

She barely had time to register that Adrian’s hands were gone from her throat as she sucked in a large gasp of air. She instinctively looked over for Jughead. He had managed to topple his chair over, and he lay on his side, the chair partially broken around him. But not broken enough. He had managed to free one hand, but his legs were still tied to the bottom of the chair. But he yanked the gag off his face and dragged himself towards Betty, his legs kicking at the chair.

Adrian stared down at Jughead and then started to laugh. “You think you can do anything to stop me? Like _that_?” Adrian crouched down and pressed a finger against the knife wound on Jughead’s leg. Jughead stopped moving and a hiss of pain escaped him. “I could kill you. I could kill both of you so easily.”

“You can’t,” Jughead panted out, his voice heavy with pain. “Think about Misti. She gave you instructions, didn’t she? She needs us alive.”

“I’m sure she won’t be too disappointed.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” Jughead said. “She had a bigger plan for us, Adrian. Kill us now and all that goes up in smoke. And you want to stay with Misti, don’t you? Act out your very own version of Bonnie and Clyde.”

Adrian tilted his head as if he was considering it. “That might have worked on me a few minutes ago. But see my best friend over there with blood pooling out of his head? That – _that_ can’t be forgiven.” He increased his pressure against Jughead’s wound and Jughead moaned aloud in pain. Then he grabbed Jughead by the shirt and pulled him up towards him. “But I’ll do something for you, man. I’ll kill you first. That way you won’t have to see her die. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Betty yanked at the ropes tying her to the chair. She pulled hard enough that she felt something twist in pain in her wrist. She pulled harder. She could not – _would_ not – sit helplessly by while Jughead was killed in front of her.

  
“Jug,” she called. His name was a choke.

He looked over at her and something like acceptance was on his face. “It’s okay,” he said in a steady voice. “It’s all going to be okay. I love you, Betty Cooper.”

“No,” she whispered. “Adrian, no, please, I’m _begging_ you, please don’t –”

Then, from upstairs and in the distance, she heard the most wonderful sound.

Police sirens.

Adrian froze and then stared down at Jughead like he was not sure what he should do. Jughead’s mouth twisted into something that could be a smile. “You better run, buddy,” he said. “I’ll give you a hint. We’ve been onto you for a while. And I think the police have finally caught up to us. I’d say you have… oh, about two minutes before they get here?”

Adrian hesitated but then he dropped Jughead and bolted for the stairs. He took the stairs at a run. When he reached the door, he yanked it open. Light and music filtered down the stairs, mixed in with the wailing police sirens in the distance.

The music abruptly ceased. In its place came the pattering of feet against the floor as the partygoers presumably believed the police were coming to break up their party.

The police sirens grew louder. Sharp relief blossomed in Betty’s stomach. It had to be Jimmy – he must have received her text and figured the rest out for himself. They were going to make it out of this. They would be saved.

She looked over at Jughead. He was lying awkwardly on his side where one arm was still tied to the remnant of the chair, his feet still bound to the chair’s legs. He worked to free his other hand, but his movements were slow and hampered by pain.

Her eyes ticked over to Sandy, immobile, on his back, blood still pooling out from his head. She thought that his chest was still moving – she _hoped_ his chest was still moving.

Upstairs, the police sirens abruptly shut off and the doorbell rang, sharp and insistent, followed by the yell of male voices, “Police!” came the voices. “Hands where we can see them!”

Betty opened her mouth and let out the loudest scream that she possibly could: “HELP, HELP, WE’RE DOWN HERE, WE NEED HELP.”

Silence descended upstairs and then they heard muffled shouting. A few moments later, the police were running down the stairs to the basement, guns held out in front of them. Jimmy was in the lead, followed by younger officers that Betty vaguely recognized.

Jimmy paused at the bottom of the stairs as he and his officers took in the scene around him.

“Get help!” Betty said. She jerked her head in Sandy’s direction. “Jimmy, he needs medical attention. Please!”

Jimmy holstered his gun and scrambled to crouch over Sandy’s side. He hurriedly pulled on gloves and then pressed his fingers to Sandy’s neck. He looked up at his young officer. “There’s a pulse,” he said. “Get the paramedics down here. Now.”

_A pulse_. The relief was hot and fast. It did not mean that Sandy was out of the woods, but he was still alive.

From there, everything passed in a blur. The paramedics came down the stairs with a stretcher and bundled Sandy away with quick, efficient steps. Betty watched them work with wide eyes. Unasked questions stuck in her throat: ‘ _How bad is it? Is he going to be okay? Can you help him?’_

Her gaze followed Sandy and the paramedics as they deftly navigated him up the stairs and out of her sight.

She was only dimly aware of Jimmy working to free her from the ropes binding her hands and feet to her chair. His other officer worked to free Jughead. When Jimmy finished, Betty flexed her wrists and legs. Her skin was reddened and pulsed with pain, but she pushed herself to her feet.

She looked over at Jughead. His face twisted into a grimace as he carefully kept his weight off his injured leg.

His eyes found hers. She hissed out a breath that sounded like a sob. Then she closed the distance between them and flung herself into his open arms. He made an “ _oof_ ” noise as she collapsed against his chest, but his arms quickly wrapped around her.

She did not cry, but her chest heaved up and down with silent sobs. Jughead pressed a kiss to the top of her head, to her temple, her cheek, her forehead.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’re okay. I’ve got you. Everything is okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. How are we doing? This chapter was a big one and I hope that you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Thank you all for all of your kind comments and theories. I have appreciated your support so much. One more wrap up chapter to go!


	8. Chapter 8

Jughead leaned heavily against Betty as they tottered up the stairs and out of the basement. He climbed one step at a time using one hand on the railing and the other hand on Betty’s shoulder. Behind them, Jimmy yelled into his phone, demanding a forensics team onsite.

Betty’s body protested her movements. Her wrists were raw and reddened; her neck and throat were sore and throbbed when she drew in a breath. Spots danced in front of her vision as she climbed the stairs. But she mashed her teeth together and forced one foot in front of the other.

When they reached the main floor, the lights from the remnants of the frat party burned her eyes. She blinked rapidly as she took in the scene around her. She quickly scanned the stragglers from the frat party, searching for Donna and Misti. She was not surprised when she did not find either of them.

Her gaze lingered on some of Sandy’s teammates. They seemed confused and impatient with the police tramping through the frat house. Some of them gave Betty stupefied looks as she staggered out of the basement, and she felt their eyes on her back as she steered Jughead down the hallway and towards the front door.

Outside, the house was a disaster zone. She counted at least six cop cars, three firetrucks, and an ambulance. Sandy was nowhere to be seen. She could only hope he had already been whisked off to the hospital.

She directed Jughead towards the ambulance. Before they got far, the back door of the ambulance sprung open and two paramedics jumped out – a large man and a much smaller woman. The paramedics hurried towards them and Betty stopped walking, Jughead panting heavily as he leaned against her.

The woman spoke first. She placed a gloved hand on Betty’s shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’ll take care of him from here,” she said.

The man looked Betty up and down. “This one also looks like she could use some medical attention.”

Betty’s immediate temptation was to protest – _‘I’m fine,’_ hovered on the tip of her tongue. But then she looked over at Jughead. She did not want to be separated from him right now. From the look on his face, she could tell he was thinking the same thing.

But then the door to the frat house opened. Betty glanced over her shoulder to see Jimmy marching towards her, surrounded by two officers. When he reached her, his face was grim and pinched.

“Betty, tell me that you did not go in there – on your own – because you were following a lead,” he said without preamble. “Tell me we found you by coincidence. Tell me you just happened to be at this party.”

She winced. Jimmy’s voice was the definition of _I’m-not-angry-I’m-just-disappointed_ , a voice she had heard hundreds of times in the past from her mother. It never took much to disappoint Alice. Jimmy, though? She had come to enjoy the camaraderie in their relationship. Hearing the disappointment in his voice was much worse than anything she had ever heard from Alice.

She could not meet his eyes. “We saw Adrian Turner on the MacRonald’s surveillance tape,” she murmured. “I knew him. He was my boyfriend’s best friend. I hoped I wrong.”

Jimmy sighed deeply. He folded his arms across his chest and then glanced up at the sky as if searching for strength. “You should have come to me immediately.”

“We had no proof,” Betty whispered. “No evidence to tie him to the murders. We didn’t have anything until we spoke to Allen – the owner of Fix 4 U? And I texted you about that.”

“Good thing you did, Cooper, or we might never have found you,” he said. His voice was flat. “I spoke to Allen myself. He identified Mr. Turner on the MacRonald’s surveillance tape. The fibers from the ropes he purchased at Fix 4 U matched the ropes left behind on the body of the three victims. We came here tonight to arrest him.”

Betty nodded. She felt cold all over. “We should have spoken to you first. I just thought….”

What has she thought? That because they had stopped Donna and Bret and the Preppies once before, they could do it again?

_Yes_. Truthfully, she had not even been focused on Adrian. She had wanted to catch Donna so badly.

“You were reckless,” said Jimmy. “Do you think I could have lived with myself if something had happened to you? Because of information I fed you? Huh?”

The officers and paramedics were all suddenly busy looking everywhere but at the scene playing out before them. Jughead rested a comforting a hand on Betty’s shoulder and she looked over to give him a tight smile.

She drew in a shaky breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I was reckless. But Jimmy, there’s more to this than just Adrian. He was just….” _a puppet_ , she wanted to say. But that was not quite right, was it? Adrian seemed to _enjoy_ the killing. Donna and Misti thought he was weak, but it was worse than that – more primal than that. Like Betty’s father, all Adrian seemed to need was an excuse to kill. She continued, “He wasn’t acting alone. We should go to the station.”

“You’re injured,” he said. “What you need is a doctor.”

“I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.”

“You have to hear what we know,” Jughead cut in. “Adrian was not alone in this and every moment that slips by gives his accomplices a chance to escape.”

One of the paramedics made humphing noise. “This one isn’t going anywhere.”

Betty glanced over at Jughead. It was true. His leg needed treatment. Again, she felt reluctant to be separated from him – _especially_ with Donna and Misti and Adrian still out there. But she had to tell Jimmy everything.

Jughead caught her gaze and then nodded slowly at her as if reading her thoughts.

She turned her attention to Jimmy. “Let’s go to the station,” she said. “I’ll tell you everything. Then I’ll go to the hospital.”

Jimmy expelled a breath. “Fine,” he said. To his officers, he said. “Constable Adams, Simpson, get forensics in there to search Turner’s room. Track his phone. I want every resource dedicated to finding him.” Then to Betty, he inclined his head. “Let’s go.”

Betty reluctantly released her hold on Jughead. She glanced one more time at him as she followed Jimmy to his police vehicle. He smiled reassuringly at her before the paramedics lead him towards the back of the ambulance.

***

The ride to the Sheriff’s Department was short and tense. She sat in the passenger seat next to Jimmy. Updates came in through the radio as he drove. “ _Boss, no ping from the phone. He must have been smart enough to turn it off. But we have every cop in the city looking for his plates and we’ve put a hold on all his cards. We’ll get him.”_

When they arrived at the Sheriff’s Department, Jimmy pulled up in front and then got out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. Inside, the Sheriff’s Department buzzed with activity. Officers moved back and forth across the floor while barking into their phones.

Jimmy showed Betty to one of the interview rooms. He shut the door and the frenzied noise from the station abruptly ceased. The interview room contained a beaten-up table and a couple of metal chairs. She took a seat in one of the chairs and folded her hands in front of her on the table. She looked down and the angry red marks on her wrists peaked out from under her sleeves. She hurriedly dropped her hands back to her sides.

Jimmy sat down across from her and then pushed a glass of water towards her. “Drink,” he said. “You like you’re about to fall on your face.”

She took the water glass and resisted the temptation to drink it all in one gulp. If she did, she would only make herself sick. She took small, delicate sips, but the water still felt glorious as it flowed down her tongue and throat.

Jimmy turned on a recording tape. “This is Deputy Sheriff Jim Davis sitting with Betty Cooper, witness. Time is 23:42.” He placed the recording tape on the table between them. When he turned back to her, he suddenly seemed very tired, and very old. “You said that Mr. Turner had accomplices.”

She nodded and then realized that would not pick up on the tape. “Yeah,” her voice caught. “You need to be looking for two women, Donna Sweett and her sister, Misti.” She paused. “If that’s even her sister’s real name. Misti is Adrian’s girlfriend. They were the ones behind all of this.”

Jimmy studied her dubiously. “And what evidence do you have of this?”

Betty looked him in the eyes. “It started when I was back in high school. My boyfriend, Jughead Jones, was accepted to this prestigious private school. Stonewall Prep. One of his classmates was Donna Sweett.”

She launched into the whole story, explaining about the Baxter Boys contract and how Jughead’s classmates set up his murder to win the contract for themselves. She explained how they tried to frame her for the murder. She told him that Donna Sweett was the true ringleader, the mastermind behind the whole thing. She told Jimmy how Jughead survived, and that the two of them worked together to reveal what his classmates had done. She even told him that she and Jughead had not spoken for two years until Madison and Christie were murdered. She explained that Jughead mysteriously reappeared in her life after Madison’s murder, and everything they had done since that time to get to the bottom of the murders. She explained about what happened in the basement of the frat house, how Donna and Misti had tied them up and threatened to torture Jughead if she did not do what they wanted her to do.

“In the end, all of this was still about her obsession with Tracey True,” said Betty. “She was planning to frame me all over again. But, Jimmy, you have to understand. You’re not going to find Donna’s DNA on any of those bodies. She’s too smart for that. This is what she does. She reels other people in and gets them to do her dirty work.”

As she finished, Jimmy scrubbed his hands over his face. “Cooper, I swear to god, if you’re messing with me – ”

“All of it is true,” she said stubbornly. “Look, I’m not saying Adrian shouldn’t go to prison for a long time, but if they get away, they’re going to do this again and again. That’s what Donna _does_. She uses people and she doesn’t care who she hurts along the way.” She leaned back in her chair and then folded her arms across her chest. “Call my brother.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My brother,” she said. “Charles Smith. He’s in the FBI. He’ll tell you everything. Or just look it up on the Internet. It’s all there on the Riverdale Register.”

Jimmy opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the door to the room banged open and prim looking officer with frizzy hair burst in. “Sorry to interrupt, boss. But we’ve found him. Turner. Picked him in his vehicle at the American Gas station near the highway.”

“Seriously?” said Betty. “He’s here? In custody?”

The officer frowned in Betty’s direction and then focused her attention back on Jimmy. “They are processing him now.”

Betty stood up so quickly that her legs banged the top of the table. She drew in a shaky breath, her heartbeat ringing in her ears.

Jimmy sighed and then held up a hand. “No,” he said, “no, you do not get to personally interrogate the suspect – ”

But she was already moving. She pushed by the officer and then threw open the door. She looked left and right down the hall until Adrian’s voice floated over her.

“You have no evidence to keep me here! Do you know who my father is? I want my phone call! You will all regret dragging me here, I promise.”

Betty charged down the hallway towards the sound of Adrian’s voice. She skidded to a halt near the reception desk. Four officers were struggling to move Adrian forward. His hands were handcuffed behind his back and his face was a scalding red colour. He sported a bruise on one cheek and a split lip. She suspected he had not been arrested easily or quietly.

She felt a surge of anger. _Good_ , she thought. She hoped it hurt.

Adrian’s gaze snapped to hers and his body froze. The officers holding him nearly collided with each other at his sudden stillness. If possible, Adrian’s face turned redder.

“ _You_ ,” he spat. “You set me up, you – ”

She found herself charging towards him. “Where are they?” she screamed. “Tell me where they are!”

Before she could reach him, someone grabbed her from behind. She stumbled and almost fell backwards before the hands steadied her. She instinctively struggled forward, but the grip on her hands tightened and held her back.

Adrian smirked in her direction. His amusement at her frustration seemed to briefly distract him from his own circumstances.

“Tell me where they are!” she demanded. Her voice was low, almost a growl.

Then Jimmy’s voice spoke in her ear. He sounded tired but firm.

“Cooper, you are not a police officer. You are a witness. Settle down now unless you want to end up in a cell next to him for tampering with a police investigation.”

Jimmy’s words managed to pierce through the fog of rage pounding through her mind. She stopped struggling and he relaxed his grip, but did not release her.

“Take him to Interview Room C,” said Jimmy, his voice suddenly mild. “And make sure that he gets his phone call.”

“I’m not speaking to any of you until I have a lawyer,” Adrian barked.

“Of course, of course,” said Jimmy. “All your rights will be respected. Johnson, see that he gets privacy for his call with his lawyer. And find him a cup of coffee.”

Betty glared at Adrian as the police lead him away. Jimmy only released her upper arms when he was out of sight.

“Cooper, I swear to god, what will it take for you to settle down and let us do our jobs?”

Betty spun around and turned her glare on Jimmy instead. “He almost _killed_ me,” she hissed. She gestured to her throat where she knew the bruises left behind by Adrian’s fingertips stood out on her skin.

“I am painfully aware of that fact,” Jimmy said. “But the last thing any of us needs is an accusation that you tampered with a police investigation.”

He had a point. Betty crossed her arms across her chest, but her voice held less conviction when she said, “Jimmy, you have to ask him about Donna and Misti. He might know where they are. If you get his phone, you’ll see copies of texts and calls to Misti – maybe even photos. It’ll prove that what I’m saying is true.”

Jimmy held a hand up in her direction. “Okay, Betty Drew. I have done this a few times before. I do know a few things about how to conduct a police investigation. And before you ask, you cannot observe the interview.”

“I could help,” Betty pressed. “I know him – I might be able to see something that you – ”

“No,” said Jimmy. “Absolutely not. You are not an officer on this case, understand? You are a _witness_. What you need to do is go to a hospital. Get checked over by a doctor –”

“I’m fine,” said Betty stubbornly. “It’s just a few bruises. I just need a hot shower and some water – ”

Jimmy cut her off. “I hope to god that’s true, but we need evidence – medical evidence. That means a doctor. A medical report.”

Betty blew out a breath. She had no argument for that and Jimmy knew it.

“Fine,” she said. “But please, if he talks, if you find out anything, I need to know.”

Jimmy’s mouth tightened into a thin line. She thought she might receive another lecture how she was just a witness, not a police officer, but he seemed to conclude that the safest course of action would be to mollify her.

“I will,” he said finally.

“His best friend, Sandy – you might be able to use him,” Betty continued. “He cares about Sandy – as much as he cares about anyone. He’ll feel guilty about what happened to him. You can push him there.”

Jimmy sighed but he only said. “Noted.” Then he jerked his head towards the frizzy haired officer from earlier. “Now, Constable Sophie James is going to escort you to the hospital. She will stay with you for your own protection. I will call your brother. If what you told me is true then we will leave no stone unturned to find this Donna and her sister. But this time, you leave this with us. If you think of anything else, anything at all, you call _me,_ you understand? You don’t go off on your own.”

Betty clenched her jaw, but she only said, “I understand.” Then she added, somewhat reluctantly, “Thank you.”

Jimmy nodded and gestured to his officer. “Look out for this one.”

Then he strode in the direction of the interview rooms. Constable James hurriedly scrambled out of his way. She turned to Betty, twisting a lock of frizzy hair around one finger. The look she gave Betty suggested she would rather be guarding just about anyone else.

Betty tried to smile. “Nice to meet you, Constable James,” she tried.

The other woman sighed. “This is only the biggest case of the year and I get to do baby-sitting duty.” Then she pointed to the doorway. “Come on. This way.”

****

Betty intended to call Jughead on her way to the hospital, but she belatedly realized that she did not have her phone anywhere on her a few minutes after they left the station. Made sense. Donna and Misti most likely confiscated it before they tied her up.

Hopefully, Jimmy’s forensics team would uncover it back at the frat house. Unfortunately, that did not help her present circumstances. Donna and Misti were still out there, and she had no way to reach Jughead.

“Everything okay?” Constable James asked. The other woman’s voice was gentle as she glanced at Betty in the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah,” Betty forced herself to say. And then, “I don’t have my phone. I need to reach someone.”

“You can borrow mine.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “He won’t have one either.” With forced cheer, she said, “He’s at the hospital. I’ll find him.”

Her heart gave a slow, painful tug. She needed to believe that was true. It had been her idea to separate. If anything had happened to him while she was with Jimmy….

She swallowed. To Constable James, she said, “Can we go any faster?”

“Police sirens are reserved for emergency situations,” she said tightly. “This is not an emergency situation.”

“My throat really hurts,” Betty offered, trying to make sound as meek and helpless as possible.

Constable James heaved a sigh. She did not turn on her sirens, but she did press down on the gas pedal and slightly increased their speed. Betty murmured a quick thanks and then turned her head to look out the window. The outside passed by in a blur of lights and colours.

She told herself that Donna and Misti would be foolish to show in a public place like a hospital crawling with people. Donna was smarter than that. As soon as the police raided the frat house, she and Misti would have turned and fled as far away as possible.

She _knew_ all of that – knew that was what Donna would do, but dread and trepidation twisted in her gut. _Please let him be okay_ , she thought. She had only just got him back. She could not lose him again.

***

Constable James pulled up in front of the Emergency Room and then directed Betty inside. The waiting room was a scene of chaos. Students waited in various states of inebriation, anxious mothers held small children by the hand, and police officers hovered next to intoxicated suspects. The smell of instant coffee and Lysol permeated the air and churned Betty’s stomach.

Constable James surveyed the scene with quick, efficient eyes and then grabbed Betty by the elbow. She dragged Betty towards the nursing station, her uniform easily parting the crowd as Betty trotted to keep up behind her. Constable James expertly pushed her way to the front of the line at the nurse’s station and started barking orders at the first person she saw.

Betty used Constable James’ momentary distraction to study the faces around her. She combed through the room, desperately trying to find Jughead. Her gaze landed on face after face, but she did not find him. Where _was_ he?

She turned around when Constable James nudged her on the arm. Constable James had seized upon an older nurse with a crinkled forehead and thinning mouth. The nurse’s eyes were sympathetic when they landed on Betty. She nodded at Corporal James and then came out from around the counter.

“Come with me, dear,” the nurse said. She had a thick southern accent and smelled like cigarette smoke. Betty and Constable James followed her to a cramped room. Pushed into the corner of the room was an examining bed with a paper sheet laid over top of it. There was a chair next to the door and one black and white picture on the wall that looked like a stock photo from IKEA.

“Okay, sugar,” said the nurse, “you stay here and the doctor will be by to see you shortly.”

“Thanks,” said Betty. Then, deciding that the nurse seemed to be genuinely kind, she continued, “There’s someone I’m looking for. My uh…. Jughead. Jughead Jones. He is – or was – a patient here. We were together when we got hurt. I really need to see him. I just – I need to know if he’s okay. Please can you find him? Please.”

The nurse gave her a long look. Betty expected her to say that it would be a breach of patient confidentiality, but then she smiled and nodded. “Course, sugar. I’ll see what I can do.”

The nurse left and closed the door behind her, plunging Betty and Constable James into silence.

Betty looked around her. There was little personal space in the examining room. Constable James sighed and took a seat in the chair while Betty hopped up on the bed. She shifted and the paper crinkled underneath her.

Her hands dipped into her pocket, searching for her cell phone on habit before she remembered that she did not have it. She sighed and placed her hands in her lap.

She waited. Her knees bounced nervously with tension. Her eyes jumped around the small room, going from the door, to Constable James and then back again.

The other woman’s mouth drew into a thinner and thinner line until Betty suspected she was getting on the officer’s last nerve. She told herself to breathe, to stay calm, but fear and worry prickled at the back of her neck. Where _was_ he? Donna and Misti were still out there. Donna and Misti were targeting them. They would be furious that she and Jughead managed to slip away again. She had a police escort, but Jughead did not – and she had _left_ him with no cell phone, no way to contact her….

She glanced at Constable James again. The other woman sat ramrod straight in her chair. Her eyes darted across the room like she was busy assessing every noise, every nook and cranny for a possible threat.

She did not seem to be in a mood for a chat. Still, for the first time, Betty was grateful for her presence. She did not think even Donna would be crazy enough to attack her when she had her own armed guard.

There was a knock at the door. Betty immediately hopped down from the examining table, but Constable James held out a hand.

“Who is it?” she called.

A familiar voice answered, “Jughead Jones. I’m looking for Betty Cooper?”

Betty sagged in relief as Constable James opened the door. Her heart did a slow, painful tug as he walked in the small room. He was not wearing his beanie and his hair was messy and unruly. He had replaced his torn and bloodied pants with a new pair of pants that were too big for him. They hung off his body like he was a young boy playing dress up in his father’s clothes. His pants bunched up over his thigh on his injured leg and he leaned his weight on a cane.

“Jug,” she whispered. She threw herself into his arms. He gathered her up tightly, the cane clattering to the ground as he shifted his weight to his uninjured leg. He breathed in deeply, and nuzzled his nose against the top of her head.

“Are you okay?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “No amputation necessary. They patched me up and gave me a week’s worth of antibiotics. What about you?”

“Just some bruises. I’ll be fine,” she whispered. Then, her voice shaking, she said, “I don’t have my phone. I didn’t know how to contact you. I was afraid that…”

He squeezed her tightly. “Me too. We barely got away. And for whatever reason, Donna and Adrian are focused on you.”

“I know.” Betty allowed herself one more comforting squeeze and then pulled away. “I saw Adrian at the station, Jug. He’s in custody.”

He sighed in relief, but his gaze was dark as he swept his eyes over the bruises lingering on her throat. “Good,” he said quietly. “He deserves to go away for a long time. And Donna?”

Betty shrugged. “I’m sure she’s carrying out her exit plan as we speak. She’s not going to hang around here to find out if Adrian throws her under the bus.”

Jughead acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. He glanced at Constable James and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Betty.

Betty gestured in Constable James’ direction. “Jug, meet my new protective detail. Constable James, this is Jughead.”

Constable James stood ramrod straight. She acknowledged Jughead with a jerk of her head. “Pleased to meet you,” she said. Then, as if considering that the extent of her participation in their conversation, she sat back down in the chair by the door, folding her hands primly in her lap.

Jughead seemed to take Constable James’ presence in stride. “I take it that it went well at the station?”

Betty glanced at Constable James out of the corner of her eye. “Jimmy didn’t laugh at me or kick me out. And Constable James is here if Donna and Misti come back to finish the job they started.”

Jughead’s nod was approving. “He must be taking her seriously.”

“Hopefully,” Betty said although a helpless part of her wondered if it was any use. Every minute that went by was another minute that gave Donna time to slip away without consequences for what she and Misti had done. But she forced herself to focus on what was at hand. In a softer voice, she said, “Jug, have you heard anything about Sandy?”

She was not sure what kind of reaction she expected from him – jealousy? pity? – but he inclined his head. In a serious voice, he said, “Yeah. I checked on him. I passed myself off as one of his roommates.”

Her stomach twisted with nausea. “And?” she whispered.

“He’s still unconscious,” he said. “I think he might be in a coma. The nurses were trying to contact his family in case….”

“No,” she said. She squeezed her eyes shut. “No, no, no.”

“Betty, I’m so sorry. Listen, that guy is a prime specimen of a human being. He could probably take down Archie in the boxing ring. If anyone were to make it through, it would be him.”

She took little comfort in Jughead’s words. As long as she lived, she would not forget the noise that Sandy’s head made when it cracked against the concrete floor in the basement of the frat house. He stood up to Adrian because of her. He only got hurt because of her.

She opened her mouth to try and explain what she was feeling – but what could she say? At the end of the day, she could not regret that she and Jughead had made it out of that basement relatively unscathed. But it felt… _wrong_ that they were going to be okay – and Sandy was lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

Before Betty could say anything, a doctor holding a clipboard popped her head into the examining room. The doctor plastered on a wide, fake-looking smile. “I hear I have a patient to look over and a police report to fill out,” the doctor said in a voice that was entirely too cheerful for the situation.

Jughead took one glance at the doctor’s beaming smile and immediately started backing away. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered hurriedly as he and Constable James practically raced each other out of the room.

Betty glared at his back as he all but abandoned her. She reluctantly turned back to face the doctor. If possible, her smile had grown even wider.

“I’m Dr. Levi,” she said. Her words were overly bright and chipper, giving Betty the feeling that someone recently spoke to her about improving her doctor-patient rapport. “Please take a seat,” she said. She gestured to the examining table.

Betty hopped back up on the examining table. As she did so, Dr. Levi’s fake smile reappeared.

In a sugary voice that made Betty feel about six-years-old, Dr. Levi continued, “Now, you just tell me as we go along if anything hurts and we’ll stop and take it nice and slow, okay?”

Betty nodded with some trepidation. If Dr. Levi kept talking, they could be there a long time. Thankfully, once Dr. Levi started her examination, she was all business. Dr. Levi moved efficiently and quickly through Betty’s various injuries, making “mm hmm” noises and jotting notes down on her clipboard. She diagnosed Betty with what she called “ _soft tissue injuries_ ” which to Betty sounded like a dressed-up medical word for “ _bruising_.” She told Betty to ice her wrists and the welts around her throat and take Tylenol and Ibuprofen for pain.

As Dr. Levi finished her assessment, she paused with her clipboard hovered in the air. In a hesitant voice she said, “Do you, uh… if you need to talk to someone…” she cleared her throat and tried again. “What I mean to say is, you have had a traumatic experience, and we have resources through the University….”

Betty held up a hand. “I’m okay,” she said. She had no idea if it was true, but she felt compelled to end the conversation and help Dr. Levi out of a situation the other woman clearly found awkward. “And I’m sure I could always contact Student Services if I need help.”

Dr. Levi looked relieved and then crossed something off on her clipboard. She straightened and the fake smile from earlier was back. “Well,” she said. She did not seem to know how to end their encounter. “Good luck.”

She managed a jerky nod in Betty’s direction and then hurriedly exited from the room, her white coat swishing behind her.

***

Betty was not sure what time it was when they finally left the hospital other than “ _late_.” Or perhaps “ _early?”_ Constable James pulled her police vehicle to a stop in front of Betty’s dorm in a spot clearly marked as “handicap.” Betty opened her mouth to protest, but then she realized that the spot was located outside her bedroom window. She closed her mouth.

“I’ll be here all night,” said Constable James. Her words were probably meant to be comforting, but she said them with such intensity that Betty almost felt like it was a threat. “If anything seems strange, anything at all, you call me straightaway.”

Betty’s first reaction was immense relief that Constable James did not intend to trail her all the _inside_ of her dorm room. Then she shrugged. “No phone.”

Constable James stared at her for a moment in incomprehension and then, with a heaving sigh, reached into the dashboard of the passenger side and pulled out a portable radio. She handed it to Betty with some reluctance. “Channel five – and _only_ channel five. And I take that with me tomorrow when someone comes to relieve my shift.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Betty.

Constable James seemed comforted by Betty’s tone. She nodded and then opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll walk you inside.”

Betty muffled a sigh. The last thing she wanted was to walk down the halls of her dorm room under police escort (as if she had not given her dormmates _enough_ gossip about her the last week), but again, a part of her could not help but admire Constable James’ dedication to her task.

Betty gestured for Constable James to lead them inside. Constable James did so, each of her steps efficient but cautious like she half-expected any one of Betty’s dormmates to sneak up on them out of the shadows. But the floor was quiet, the hallways still. They reached Betty’s room without incident. Constable James entered first. She flicked on the light and did a quick sweep of the room before gesturing Betty and Jughead inside.

She seemed satisfied that the room was safe when she turned to Betty. “Lock the door,” she said. Betty considered this to be unnecessary advice, but she forced herself to nod solemnly. Again, Constable James seemed to appreciate that Betty was taking the situation seriously. “Well,” she stiffly, “have a good night.”

Finally, she left, leaving Betty and Jughead alone. Betty quickly locked the door behind Constable James and then, for good measure, pushed her desk chair up under the doorknob. She set the police radio that Constable James had left them on the edge of her desk.

Then she turned back to Jughead. He had taken a seat on the side of the bed. His feet tapped against the floor like he was filled with nervous energy that would not leave him. For her part, Betty felt nothing but bone-deep exhaustion creep over her. She felt like she had run a marathon and was now across the finish line. She felt like a balloon that had popped and was deflating with air.

She did not even have the energy to take off her shoes or socks. She sat down heavily next to Jughead on the bed. She folded her hands in her lap, linking and unlinking her fingers together. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Jughead scrubbed his hands over his face. “We should probably get some sleep,” he said.

His voice sounded rough like he had meant to say something else and changed his mind at the last moment.

“We should,” Betty said. But despite the fatigue that was quickly seeping through every bone and muscle in her body, she did not think sleep would come quickly and easily. She knew that when she closed her eyes, she would relive their horrible ordeal in the basement in the frat house – Misti stabbing Jughead, leaving them helpless and tied up, Adrian’s attempts on her life…. the crunch of Sandy’s head as it landed against the cement floor.

She felt chills break out along her arms and she rubbed at her lower arms with her palms.

Jughead seemed to be mulling something over. Despite his suggestion that they sleep, he made no move to undress or hit the light switch. Finally, he cleared his throat and in a soft voice, said, “Did you mean it? What you told me in the basement?”

She did not have to ask him what “ _it”_ was. His words cut through her. She nodded and then clasped her hands in her lap again. She curled her hands into a fist, her nails pressing temptingly against the soft palms of her hands.

“I did,” she whispered. “That wasn’t how I imagined that conversation going, but I’m not sorry that I said it.” She paused. “I love you, Jughead. I never stopped loving you.” Her nails pressed in a little harder against her palms – still not hard enough to break skin, but enough to give her a prick of pain. Enough to help her focus. Her voice was raspy when she continued. “I’m sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

He reached out, palms resting warmly on her hands until her hands unfurled. He linked his fingers through hers.

“I love you, too,” he said. He sounded sad. “And I’m sorry that I pushed you away.”

“It’s okay, Jug,” she said. She clung to his hands like a lifeline. “I guess we should be thanking Donna for helping us find our way together again.”

“Betty, you and I were always going to find our way back to each other. Donna just… gave us a push.”

She managed a strained smile. “Still, even with everything that happened, I’m glad about that.”

“Me too,” said Jughead.

She glanced over at him and studied his profile. Without his beanie, he somehow seemed more open to her, more vulnerable. His cheek was still bruised from where Donna had hit him at the frat house and there were deep, haggard circles under his eyes. But Betty did not think he had ever looked so good.

She suddenly felt emboldened. The hesitation was gone from her voice when she said, “I want to be with you, Jug. Now, tomorrow – every day. That’s all I want. If you’ll still have me.”

He turned to meet her gaze. His eyes seemed to probe hers. “Are you crazy? I would follow you anywhere.”

She could not stop her smile. “What about your Serpents? Your dad? Jellybean?”

Jughead shrugged, but his lips responded with a smile of his own. “They can look out for themselves. Besides, J.B. is almost 16 now – she doesn’t need her brother cramping her style.” He shifted his body towards hers and then cupped her cheek with one hand. “There is only one place I want to be, Betty Cooper.”

Her eyes filled with tears. She leaned forward until her forehead pressed up against his. Their noses nuzzled and she sighed contentedly as his hand drifted from the side of her face and down her back, pressing her close to him.

He continued speaking, his words mumbled and thick. “Maybe I could look into community colleges. Audit some classes here? We could look at getting an apartment together near campus. I could get a job – a real job, maybe work on my writing – ”

She cut off his rambling with a kiss. He pulled her closer to him until she could feel the heat of his body radiating against hers. Neither of them made any move to escalate beyond their kiss. Instead she enjoyed the warmth of his mouth, the feel of his slightly chapped lips against hers.

When Jughead pulled away, she was breathless and a little pink in the face. She almost felt like she was 16 and she and Jughead were sneaking into her bedroom to make-out furiously after school, both of them keeping one eye towards the door in case Alice discovered them.

She should feel guilty about feeling so happy. After all, three people were dead because of Donna and Misti, and Sandy was fighting for his life in the hospital. But after everything she had been through the last day – Donna and Misti and being kidnapped and nearly dying – did she not deserve a few moments of happiness?

Jughead watched her like he knew what she was thinking. “As nice as that was, we really do need to get some rest,” he said softly. He tucked a lock of loose hair behind her ear. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

He was right. She nodded and somehow summoned the energy to kick off her shoes and socks. She stripped down to her underwear, and then staggered to her feet to turn off the light switch.

She cuddled against Jughead in bed, her back pressed to his chest, his arm draped heavily across her middle. Despite her fears that she would not be able to sleep, she felt herself drifting off within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really only meant to write one wrap-up chapter, but chapter 8 ended up being so long that I have split it into two parts. The last part should be coming soon and will feature.... more adventures of people standing around and talking! :) I am also mulling over an idea for an epilogue/future one-shot so even though this fic is coming to an end, I'm not quite ready to leave this universe behind. As always, I have appreciated all of your kind words and reviews more than I can say. Thank you all so much. <3


	9. Chapter 9

_Adrian’s face pressed up against hers. His breath was putrid – he smelled like beer and old cologne, cigarettes and vomit. Her stomach twisted and she fought down a retch. He ranted at her, spewing ugly words: “You did this, you bitch.”_

_“Don’t call me that,” she said, but she was staring at Sandy’s body – twisted and broken on the ground, blood pooling on the floor._

_She raised her own hands – and they were covered in blood. Her heart pounded. Whose blood was on her hands? Had she hurt him? Hurt Sandy?_

_Adrian was still coming – his face was large and grotesque, almost monstrous. His hands were reaching for her throat. She screamed and tried to get away. But she was trapped and there was nowhere to go._

_Then she heard a banging noise – like a picture falling to the floor and shattering. She looked desperately around for the source of the noise. Had someone heard her screams for help?_

_But there was no one – only Adrian, his chest heaving, his hands reaching for her, his fingers pressing down on her throat –_

Betty jerked awake, eyes ripping open to a room bathed in sunlight. She clutched the sheets to her chest, her heart still hammering. Jughead’s body was warm where it was still pressed up against hers.

She closed her eyes, heartbeat running wild in her ears. It was a dream. It was just a dream. She sucked in a deep breath when the pounding noise from her dream came again – _bam._ She jumped, fingers flexing against the sheets covering her body. Next to her, Jughead twitched and then opened his eyes. He blinked at her with sleepy confusion.

The door, she realized. Someone was knocking at the door. Betty’s heart lodged in her throat for an entirely different reason. What if it was Donna or Misti coming to finish them off?

Then she heard a familiar, stiff voice calling, “This is Constable Sophie James. Will you two lovebirds please open this goddamn door?”

Betty’s panic gave way to relief at the voice. She pushed back the covers and hurriedly wriggled into her discarded pants from the night before. She pressed back her hair behind her ears but winced as she passed her mirror on the way to the door – her hair hung limply down by her shoulders, and her eyes were swollen with sleep and crusty makeup.

Thankfully, she did not think that Constable James would care overly much about her appearance. She removed the chair pushed under the doorknob and then unlocked and opened the door.

Constable James was not alone. Next to her was a scrawny young man who looked like he had joined the police force out of high school. He had a buzz cut and fading remnants of teenage acne on his face.

“This is Constable Lewis,” said Constable James. Betty winced. Her voice was very loud for first thing in the morning. “He will be taking over your detail for the rest of the day. I have briefed him on the situation.”

Betty barely heard her say the last part because she was busy staring at what Constable Lewis was holding in his hands – two things, in fact.

“Our cell phones,” she whispered. She could not quite contain the awe from slipping into her voice. Until that moment, she had not been aware of just how naked she felt without her cell phone on her.

Constable James almost smiled. “Forensics retrieved them from the crime scene. Deputy Sheriff Davis thought you might wish to have them back.”

Constable Lewis spoke for the first time. “Also,” he said in a surprisingly squeaky voice, “someone has been trying to get a hold of you.”

Betty snatched the phones out of his hand with a mumbled “thanks.” Both Constable Lewis and James leaned forward like they wanted more information about who had been trying to reach Betty and why. She backed up a step and said, “I’ll just...”

She held up a finger in their direction to indicate she would be back to them in a moment and then shut the door before Constable James or Lewis could protest. As soon as she did so, her phone began vibrating. She quickly picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Betty, thank god.”

The voice on the other end of the phone was familiar and welcome. Her lips twitched up in a smile. “Charles,” she said warmly with a look in Jughead’s direction. His face went from drawn and worried to relieved. He gave her a thumb’s up and then flopped back down against the pillows.

“I’ve been on the phone with your local police force for half the night,” he said. She could tell he was trying to sound cross, but she heard the amusement in his voice. “I take it that my siblings have been… busy.”

“Hey now,” she said. “Jughead and I got pulled into this. We were a target just as much as everyone else.”

“Uh huh,” said Charles skeptically.

Betty passed Jughead’s phone over to him and then took a seat at the edge of the bed. “Charles, if you’ve talked to Jimmy then you know that Donna was behind all of this. What about Adrian Turner? Do you know if he’s talked?”

“The first thing he did was try and pin the murders on you,” said Charles. He paused and then with a feigned sigh, added, “I’m so proud of my little sister. Making friends everywhere she goes.”

“You know me,” said Betty brightly. “I bring joy everywhere I go.” She paused. “I’m hoping he did not get very far convincing the local police that I was responsible for the murders?”

“He did not,” Charles confirmed. “The police have pretty damning evidence against Mr. Turner and it did not take him long to realize that himself. Once he did, he quickly turned the focus onto Donna and her sister, Misti.”

“I’ll bet he was all too happy to claim that it was all their idea and they were just manipulating him,” Betty murmured.

“Oh, much more than that,” said Charles. “His latest story is that all he did was procure the rope for his girlfriend. He says he never knew what she used it for. Unfortunately for him, the strength needed to strangle those poor kids to death… well, let’s just say that it would be a hell of a lot easier for a 160-pound member of the swim team than either Donna or Misti. Plus they have the videotape evidence of Turner at the MacRonald’s.” He sighed. “I’m told you know all about that tape.”

Betty made a noncommittal noise in her throat. “That’s good though, right? They’re taking Donna seriously?”

“Very seriously,” Charles confirmed. “So far, she and her sister are considered suspects in at least three murders not to mention kidnapping and assaulting you and Jughead.” Charles paused and with some hesitancy, he said, “The problem is – ”

“ – there’s no sign of them,” Betty finished. She glanced at Jughead. He sat up against the headboard, his knees bent up in front of him. His face was grim but not surprised.

“My assumption is that they have already crossed state lines,” said Charles. “Turner got picked up because he drove his own registered car. He used his credit card practically the first chance he got. He turned off his cell phone, but he still had it on him and you can bet that the forensics team is mining that phone as we speak.”

“Donna would never make any of those mistakes,” said Betty. “She’ll have fake IDs. Cash. A rental vehicle.”

“That’s my guess as well,” said Charles. “Listen, Betty, this is twice now that Donna Sweett has gone after you and Jughead. And I don’t take too kindly to anyone who targets my family. If she has crossed state lines, that brings her into FBI jurisdiction. As we speak, I am personally assembling a task force to find her. I promise you and Jughead. She is not going to get away with this. I will find her.”

It was a touching speech, but Betty felt little comfort in his words. She had no doubt that Charles would do everything he could to find Donna and Misti. She just did not think it would be enough.

But she only said, “Thanks Charles. We really appreciate that. And thanks for backing us up with Jimmy, too. I know our story must have sounded crazy to him.”

“You do this job long enough, Betty, and it’s hard to be surprised in this line of business.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, and then continued, “By the way, are you and Jughead….?”

Betty hesitated. Despite the fact that she and Jughead had been dating when Charles first came into their lives, it was still strange to speak to her half-brother about her romantic life with his other half-sibling.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “But Charles, can you keep this to yourself for now? Once mom knows…”

“Say no more, little sister. Your secret is safe with me,” said Charles. “But I’m happy for you.”

She managed a soft “bye” and then hung up the phone. She held the phone in her hand for a moment contemplatively. Then she dragged a hand through her messy hair as she turned back to Jughead.

“Donna and Misti are gone,” she announced.

He shrugged. “I figured as much.”

“Charles says they’re now under FBI jurisdiction. He’s going to look for them himself.”

Jughead’s expression did not change. “Donna has back up plans to her back up plans,” he said. “For all we know, she could already be across the Canadian border.”

Betty’s shoulders deflated. She nodded miserably. “On the plus side, it will be a lot harder to kill us from Canada.”

“And a lot harder for Charles and his task force to find her,” Jughead murmured.

Betty nodded in resignation. She filed that away to be dealt with later. Then she gestured behind her. “I think it is time we braved the showers.” His eyes lit up, but before he could say anything, she held up a hand. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “We’re still in a dorm. The showers are _shared._ ”

“I know that,” he huffed, but she detected a hint of disappointment in his voice. But then he was looking up at her again, his eyes glinting. “But when you come out of the shower, you’ll still be all… wet.”

His words coupled with the way he was looking at her sent immediate heat pooling in Betty’s stomach. She almost felt embarrassed at how badly she suddenly _wanted_ him – but she could tell from his gaze that he wanted her just as much. She hurriedly bent to pull open the bottom drawer of her dresser and pulled out two towels. She handed one to Jughead. His fingers brushed against hers as he took it, sending shivers along her arm and down her spine.

She hugged the towel to her chest and said, “I’ll be back soon.” With an approving glance at him, she bit her lip and then said, “Shower quickly.”

His eyes widened and she smirked as she turned to leave the room, towel in hand.

***

A few hours later, showered and refreshed, Betty was back at the hospital. But she was not back for a follow up visit. Her bruises were already fading and a couple of Ibuprofen pills had dulled the pain to no more than a distant ache.

No, she was not at the hospital for herself. She had come to see Sandy.

She left Jughead and Constable Lewis in the waiting room and then made her way to the trauma wing. The hospital was quieter than the night before. There almost seemed to be an order to the chaos as doctors and nurses hurried back and forth across the hallways. No one gave her a second glance as she pushed open the door to Sandy’s room.

He had a semi-private room, but curtains were drawn tightly across the other bed. Sandy’s bed was open and closest to the entrance. He was not alone. Sitting in a chair next to him, her eyes closed, was a thin middle-aged woman who was dozing lightly with her head tilted to the side.

Betty’s breath caught in her throat. She was gripped by a sudden urge to turn around and leave the way she had come. This had to be Sandy’s mother. Betty had to be the last person in the world Sandy’s mother wanted to see. Sandy was only here because of her – because he had tried to save her.

And that was precisely why she could not leave. She squared her shoulders and then cleared her throat.

The woman’s eyes fluttered open and she sleepily blinked as she took in Betty standing in the doorway. “Oh, I’m sorry,” said the woman. Her voice was thick and lethargic. “Are you a doctor?”

Betty shook her head. She shuffled into the hospital room, glancing at Sandy out of the corner of her eyes. He was sound asleep, hooked up to various machines that monitored his breathing, oxygen levels, and heartrate. She focused back on the woman.

“My name is Betty,” she said, swallowing hard. “Betty Cooper.”

The woman’s eyes lit up and then she pushed herself to her feet. “Sandy’s girlfriend,” she murmured. “He talks about you all the time.”

She surprised Betty by closing the distance between them and pulling Betty in for a tight hug. Betty stiffened but then hugged the other woman back. She could feel the bones of the other woman’s back constricting against her hands, but her hug was surprisingly tight.

She released Betty and then stared at her kindly, in a maternal way. Betty’s stomach bottomed out when she realized she did not even recall the woman’s _name_. Surely Sandy would have mentioned it at some point? Diane? Diana? Something that started with a “D?”

To Betty’s immense relief, the woman introduced herself, “I’m Deb. Sandy’s mother. I’m so pleased to meet you at last.”

Betty’s tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She forced herself to swallow and then she said, “Me too.” She ducked her head, and face burning with embarrassment, she said, “Ms. Miller – Deb – you should probably know, Sandy and I… we broke up.”

“Oh dear,” Deb murmured sadly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Betty jerked her head in a nod. “It was recent,” she said. “But I… I just wanted to see him.” She swallowed. “How is he?”

Deb’s face darkened. “He’s in and out of consciousness. They say that’s good.” She glanced at her son’s still form on the bed and shivered. “But we won’t know what kind of condition he’s in until he comes to. The doctors say he suffered a terrible blow to the head. Head injuries are delicate things, they say. You never know how a person is going to wake up.”

Betty’s immediate feeling was relief – he was going to _live_. When she saw Sandy fall and crack his head against the cement floor in that basement, she had feared for the worst. Yes, she knew that brain injuries could be bad – horribly bad. But he was young and he was strong. He had already done the most important thing. He survived.

“That’s good,” she found herself whispering. “Did the police tell you what happened?”

“They said a party got out of hand. They told me that his friend did this.” She rubbed at her forehead and then shrugged her shoulders. “They said his friend, the one who did this… they said he hurt people. Killed people.”

Betty found herself unable to look Deb in the eyes. “Sandy was trying to help me – protect me. That’s why he got hurt.”

There was no answer and then Deb touched Betty gently on the shoulder. She returned the other woman’s gaze. Her eyes were gentle.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. “I’m glad that you’re okay.”

Betty swallowed past a lump in her throat. Her gaze was so kind, so understanding – and so undeserved. Betty wondered if Sandy’s mother would feel the same way if she knew how quickly Betty dumped her son after Jughead reappeared into her life.

“Can I…” Betty began and then hesitated. What right did she have to ask for anything from her? But she forced herself to continue, “Would you mind if I visited with him?”

Deb squeezed Betty’s shoulder again. “Of course, honey. I should get myself some coffee and something to eat. Talk to him, okay? The doctors say he can hear us.”

“I will,” said Betty.

With another comforting pat, Deb left the room and Betty found herself alone with Sandy and the blinking machines hooked up to his body. She took a seat in the chair that Deb had vacated. Someone had pulled the drapes from the windows and bright light shone through the room.

Sandy’s face was pale in the glow of the sunlight. He was stronger than almost anyone she knew, but he looked so helpless on the bed.

Deb has asked her to speak to him, but she felt at a loss as to what to say. If Sandy really _could_ hear her, would he even want her there? In a week, he had lost his girlfriend and his best friend – now he faced an uncertain life when he woke up. And all of it was her fault.

She shifted the chair closer to Sandy’s bedside. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep. If it were not for the machines hooked up to him, she would almost think he was sleeping peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered into the quiet of the room. There was no response from Sandy. No twitch of muscle or any reaction to show that he heard her.

She sucked in a deep breath. Her apology felt inadequate.

“You know,” she continued, “your friend Adrian is a real dick.”

Again, nothing but silence greeted her but she could not help but curl her lips up into a smile. She could almost imagine his responding laugh and shake of his head.

She continued, “Sandy, I know you have no reason to listen to me, but I really need you to get better. You did the most amazing thing down there. But I will never forgive myself if you don’t get better, okay?”

Again, there was no answer. But at least she had said her piece.

She hesitated before leaving. Was it right to go before Deb came back? But she was not sure she could take the other woman looking at her with so much kindness and sympathy.

She looked back at Sandy. “I gotta go,” she said. “But I’ll be checking up on you, okay? I’ll see you again soon.”

She left the hospital room, the machines beeping rhythmically behind her.

***

Betty left Sandy’s room behind in a daze. The bruises along her throat suddenly ached in turn with her plodding footsteps. _What now?_ she wondered. Adrian was in police custody. Donna was gone. There was nothing more she could do for Sandy.

She wanted – no, _needed_ there to be something else to do, a task that she could tick off. She needed purpose. Because when she had nothing to do, nothing to focus on, her thoughts strayed back to being tied up in that basement, to the smell of Adrian’s breath as he tried to choke the life out of her, of how helpless she felt….

The ringing of her cell phone pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at the caller ID – it was the local police station. She hurriedly picked up the call and ducked into a nearby woman’s washroom for some privacy.

“Hello?” she said breathlessly. “Jimmy?”

There was a woman washing her hands at the sink who glared at Betty out of the corner of her eye. Betty scrambled into one of the stalls, locking the door behind her.

“What’s going on?” she hissed into the phone. “Did Adrian confess? Have you found Donna?”

“Alright, alright,” said Jimmy. She could imagine him holding up a hand to stop her barrage of questions. “Not that you are entitled to be privy to this information, but he has not confessed. Not yet anyway. He is still very determined to point his fingers at your friends the Sweetts. But we got him, Cooper. We have his DNA and Forensics is going over the bodies again. We will find something to tie him to them. It’s only a matter of time. I swear to you that Adrian Turner is going behind bars for a long time.”

“Good,” she whispered. She pulled down the toilet seat and then took a seat. She heard someone else enter the washroom and kept her voice low. “And Donna?”

“No sign of her,” Jimmy admitted. “Believe me, we have combed the city looking for Donna Sweett and her sister. They’ve vanished.”

She was not surprised. Charles had told her as much.

“What happens next?” she asked.

“We’re turning the search for the Sweetts over to the FBI,” said Jimmy. He sounded grim. “We have all our officers set on high alert, but it is more than likely they have already cleared state lines. This one is out of our hands, Cooper. But of course, none of this is a shock to you, is it?”

“No,” she admitted. “I spoke to my brother this morning. He said he was taking over the search personally.”

“Much as I hate ceding jurisdiction to the feds, in this case, they have the resources for a manhunt of this size that we can’t even conceive of.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of resources…”

“You’re pulling my security detail,” Betty guessed – or security _babysitter_ , as Betty had come to think of her police shadow.

“We just don’t have the funds for it,” said Jimmy. “We’ll do a drive-by of your dorm every few hours, but without a clear and present threat to your life, I can’t justify it to the higher ups.”

“I understand,” Betty said softly. “I’ll be okay, Jimmy. As you said, she has probably put as much distance as she can between herself and this place. The threat to me is low.”

“That may very well be the case,” he said, “but if you see any sign of her – any sign at all, you call us. Understand, Betty? No more going off half-cocked on your own. You got lucky this time, but if we had arrived even a few minutes later…”

“I understand,” Betty said. “I appreciate it though, Jimmy. You’ll still be my best source for the _Daily_?”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, but with enough amusement for Betty to think she had won him over again. “Listen, I’ve got to go and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”

The line went dead before she could say goodbye.

***

She found Jughead waiting patiently in the waiting room, elbows resting on his knees as he flipped through a magazine. He licked is thumb and then flicked through the pages with flourish. As she drew closer to him, she noted with some amusement that the magazine he was pouring through was the latest edition of People Magazine.

“Catching up on your celebrity gossip?”

Jughead jumped like she had stung him. He hurriedly dropped the magazine and looked around as if worried about who else might have caught him.

“Believe it or not, the options were incredibly limited. It was either this or Reader’s Bequest.”

“Uh huh,” said Betty. She tried to get a peak at the article he had been reading when she interrupted him, but he snatched the magazine away from her and then tossed it onto a nearby chair.

He cricked his neck back and forth and then jumped to his feet. “In more important news, I’m absolutely starved. Do you know how little I’ve had to eat in the last 24 hours? Being kidnapped and held hostage and nearly tortured has really worked up my appetite. I don’t suppose you know of a place where we can get a coffee and a plate of eggs?”

She grinned at him. “Alice’s?”

He held out the crook of his elbow. “Lead the way, my lady.”

***

The coffee at Alice’s was steaming hot and the plate of eggs and toast that the waitress set down in front of Betty made her mouth water.

She had given Jughead a rundown of her visit with Sandy and conversation with Jimmy on their way over. Like her, he was not surprised that Jimmy had cut back on their security detail. They kept a careful eye out for any suspicious figures who could be lurking in alleyways or out of the way, but the walk to Alice’s was uneventful. It would take some time before she stopped jumping at darkened shadows, but so long as she had Jughead on her side, she was determined to keep walking forward.

For now, they were too busy eating to bother with conversation.

Finally, after Jughead inhaled a plate of eggs, sausages, and toast, he looked up at Betty with some hesitancy in his eyes.

“I need to go back to Riverdale,” he said, “just for a bit.”

She found herself nodding. That made sense. He still had a life there. He could not live out of a duffle bag forever.

“What are you going to tell your dad? And the Serpents?”

He shrugged. “The truth,” he said simply. “I think they’ll be happy for me. My dad always thought I was insane for letting you get away after… well, even after everything that happened.”

FP’s steadfast support warmed Betty’s heart. But she groaned. “I’ll have to call my mother.”

Jughead quirked an eyebrow. “I definitely think the I-was-kidnapped-and-oh-yeah-I’m-back-with-Jughead conversation should come from you directly.”

Betty’s teeth were immediately on edge. She could not _wait_ for that conversation. But Jughead was right. Her mother would hunt her down if she heard about all this second-hand after Jughead got back to Riverdale.

“Maybe while I’m gone…” Jughead started. He looked a little hesitant, but he pushed forward. “Maybe you could start looking at apartments? If that’s not – if that’s not moving too quickly.”

“Jug,” she said with a smile. “We used to share a bedroom. I don’t think sharing an apartment is exactly moving ‘too quickly.’” She took a bite from the last of her eggs, chewed, and then added, “Besides, between the police officers tramping in and out at all hours and the strange confrontations I’ve had with you and Sandy over the last week, I think my dormmates will be happy to see the last of me.” She paused. “But I will miss you while you’re gone.”

He ducked his head, his lips pulling up into a bashful smile. “Me too,” he whispered. “It won’t be too long. I just need to tie off a few loose ends.”

She nodded. “Jug, there’s something else I want to ask you.”

He looked up at her, eyes serious. “What is it?”

She hesitated before answering. She thought about her nightmare that morning, about how little control she felt she had in that basement, at the mercy of Donna and Misti and Adrian. She needed something to wrest control back from them - something she could _do,_ focus on.

Finally, she said, “I know that Donna and Misti are in the hands of the FBI and that Charles is on the case, but…. I want to find them. Donna and Misti. No, I _need_ to find them.” She paused. “And I just thought – well, do you want to help?”

In response, a slow almost predatory smile spread across his face. Hope and excitement fluttered in her stomach. His smile was the only answer she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much to those of you who made it to the end of this journey with me! I hope this was a satisfying end. Donna is still out there, but you KNOW that Betty and Jughead will enjoy nothing more than building a new murder board in their new apartment to find her. :) I do have at least one idea for a one-shot set about one year later in this universe with Sandy (because, yes, he's going to be MOSTLY okay) and, who knows, there might also be more to come! But I do have some other fic ideas I've been itching to write as well. As always, I treasure all your comments so much. Thank you so much for your support!! <3
> 
> Please feel free to look me up on tumblr: https://go-ldy.tumblr.com/


End file.
